


You'll Remember Me (When the West Wind Moves)

by FoxNonny



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Like so much angst, M/M, Slavery, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-15 14:47:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5789401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxNonny/pseuds/FoxNonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris remembers nothing of his life prior to a month ago, and knows only what his master has told him: that he is a slave, has always been a slave, and that there is an apostate out for his blood. Now that apostate has come for him, and Fenris is determined to defend himself and his master, Danarius, from his greatest enemy: Garrett Hawke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really, really waffled on the ratings for this fic, I'll be honest. I never graphically depict the sexual non-con aspect of Fenris's time as a slave, because that's not what I'm about, but it does frame so much of the stuff that happens afterwards that I decided to land on the explicit side, just to be cautious. As well there is a brutal depiction of torture later on in the fic, so I guess it covers that as well.
> 
> As a side-note, Danarius is the scum of the earth, and I want to set him on fire.
> 
> Basically this is your classic amnesia fic because why the hell not. I almost have it completed, so I'll be uploading chapters pretty much daily. I thrive off comments and kudos even if I'm far too shy to reply to most of them, but know that I love you guys, and I love when y'all read my shit.
> 
> (Title taken from the song "Fields of Gold" because I'm mushy as shit, specifically the Eva Cassidy cover.)

Fenris wakes up slowly, and as he does, he reaches an arm out behind him by some instinct he doesn't understand.

 _It's a sleepy kind of morning, far too early, and the warmth at his back is comforting rather than overbearing, an arm draped over his torso to keep him close..._

_"It's too early," a low voice murmurs, the words rumbling against Fenris's bare back. "Go back to sleep, love."_

Fenris's hand hits a cold stone wall, only inches from his back, and Fenris wakes in earnest. The cobwebs and half-dreams of sleep slip away from his mind, and try as he might to remember, in moments there is nothing left of what he'd been imagining. Just some strange, unplaceable sense of loss. Regret.

Anger.

But he has no right to feel angry. He's indebted, after all, and favoured among the slaves of the household. His master risked much to rescue him, to save him. This is all he knows. In his month and a half of memories, all he has is his master's word. 

Even if this weren't the case, he doesn't have to rely on Danarius's word to know the truth of himself. He looks in the mirror and he sees an elf; an inferior race, by nature. Sees the collar around his neck. Sees the lines of lyrium carved into his flesh - a mighty expense, to be sure, and all for him. All because his master cares for him.  

Fenris doesn't know how he feels about his master in return, but he can't deny that there is a debt to be repaid, an imbalance. If serving Danarius can help to even the score, then he will do so.

It is, after all, all he knows.  

The bed he lies on - little more than a pallet, only long enough and wide enough to contain his narrow frame - is set against the far wall of his master's chamber. He, above any of the other slaves, is permitted to sleep close to his master, to be within reach should Danarius have need of him. Some of the other slaves are jealous. Fenris can only think of what privacy a single room might grant him, but he doesn't dare bring the matter up with his master. He may be confused about a great many things, but he is no masochist. Danarius has been ruthless in his retraining, and Fenris knows better than to disappoint him. 

He shifts from his side onto his back, wincing as the metal links of the chain leashing his collar to the wall clink softly in the silence. He just wants a few more moments to himself... some time to try to put his mind together before the day begins-

"Fenris." 

Fenris closes his eyes. There is no ignoring that voice. "Yes, master?"

There's the subtle rush of a spell being cast, and the leash slithers free of its docking in the wall, the end links clattering next to Fenris's head on the hard wood of the pallet. 

"Come, Fenris," Danarius says, his voice not much more than a nasal groan of exhaustion. "I have need of you." 

Fenris's mouth settles into a thin line. It's his duty, he's privileged for it, he's indebted. He repeats these things on a loop in his mind as he takes the end of his leash in hand and slides off the edge of his pallet, walking himself over to his master's bed. 

There Danarius lies, among silk sheets and heavy down bedding, the picture of magisterial resplendency. Or at least, his bed is resplendent, at any rate. The magister himself is aging, and looks oddly dwarfed amongst his elaborate trappings, his hair in disarray after the night and his eyes squinting and sleep-heavy, saliva caked in the lines around his pouting lips. Fenris's master. The man who owns his life and his flesh. 

Danarius holds up a hand, and Fenris pauses, only a few steps from the bed. "Disrobe."

He doesn't want to, but he knows even a moment's hesitation could give the magister reason to think he requires more retraining. Keeping an even temper and control of his emotions, Fenris briskly unbuttons the sheer long tunic his master requires him to wear at night, careful to fold it before placing it at the end of Danarius's bed. 

Danarius smiles, and holds out a hand. Fenris passes him the end of his leash, feeling nothing, nothing at all.  

"Such a good lad you've become, Fenris," Danarius croaks, his eyes roaming over Fenris's body. "In such a short time - better, I daresay, than you were before your little misadventure. I'm so very proud." 

"Thank you, master," Fenris says, his eyes on the marble tile beneath his feet. It's cold in the room, no fire yet lit to combat the morning chill, but he doesn't dare shiver. 

"Good," Danarius says again. "Show me how grateful you are, pet. Show me your love for your master." 

Fenris tucks himself away into the far recesses of his mind as he carefully joins Danarius on the bed, pulled along by his leash, and does what his master asks of him, careful not to think or feel. Careful not to consider anything other than his master's desires.  

When all is finished, Fenris slips off the bed and kneels on the cold marble at Danarius's side, the magister still slightly breathless as he sits up to gaze down at Fenris. "Now, Fenris, tell me - has there been anything deviant in your thoughts since last I asked? Anything you found confusing?" 

Fenris swallows. There's no point in lying - Danarius's wrath is always worse if he has nothing to say. 

"When I woke up I was... angry," Fenris says, not daring to look up at his master to gauge his reaction, dreading the pain that is likely to follow. "I don't know why. It was only for a moment." 

"Who were you angry with?" Danarius asks, sounding more curious than wrathful. 

"I don't know," Fenris responds honestly. "There was just... rage, and- regret. As I said, it was momentary." 

"Even a momentary lapse can prove significant if left unchecked," Danarius says.  

Fenris says nothing, only prepares himself for retraining. For Danarius's discipline. 

"And yet you were honest in telling me, and you say the rage had no direction," Danarius muses. "It might not be misplaced. Were I you, I would have a considerable amount of anger for the one who took me from my home. The one who violated you, tried to kill you." 

"The apostate," Fenris says hollowly.  

"Yes," Danarius says, sounding pleased. "You may not remember him consciously, but clearly some part of you knows that a great injustice was visited upon you. That, my little Fenris, is where your anger is meant to be placed. Anger that this man took you from my side, regret that you did not kill him so you might have come home sooner." 

_He wasn't the one who gave me these markings,_  Fenris thinks, but does not dare say. Lyrium is expensive, and the markings running the course of Fenris's skin are easily worth a fortune, clear temptation for a desperate apostate needing lyrium and blood for whatever dark ritual he planned to perform. 

What that ritual was, Fenris does not know. Surely there are easier sources of both materials than an expensive living slave, with an Imperial magister holding the other end of his leash? Surely it could not have been worth the trouble?  

Whatever the apostate did, Danarius fixed it. Danarius saved his life. It robbed Fenris of his memory, but thanks to Danarius, not his breath. He is grateful.  

"I will not retrain you today, for there is nothing to fix," Danarius says, and Fenris feels the magister's hand upon his head, patting his white hair like a man might pet his dog. "Besides, you will need that anger, as well as your strength, for I feel that your tormentor has come for you." 

Fenris stiffens. "Master?" 

"A spirit in the Fade I've had past dealings with was kind enough to inform me of the apostate's arrival," Danarius says, his voice heavy with disdain. "He will come upon us this evening, and he will not be alone. It would be wise not to underestimate him. However, I've bested him once before, and we're in my territory now." 

"We have many guards-" Fenris starts.

"No, I do not want this man cut down by an arrow in the courtyard, or speared through the belly like a pig at our front door," Danarius says. "You must be the one to kill him." 

Fenris looks up, an icy shiver racing down his spine. "Me, master?" 

"Prove to me that you're strong again," Danarius says fiercely, something hungry and horrible burning in his eyes. "Prove to me that you're the warrior I need, that you can best your captor. Prove to me that your teeth are sharp and your claws long, my little wolf." 

Fenris remembers his rage from earlier, draws on it before fear can take his heart. The apostate took his memories, his whole _life_  from him. Tried to kill him, warped him so Danarius has had to mould him back to his prior self with pain and blood magic. Fenris hardly knows who or what he is anymore, and it's _his_  fault, the shadowy figure he doesn't remember, only knows from his healing wounds and loss of self.  

"I will do it, master," Fenris says, letting the rage seep into his voice, and Danarius grins. "I will kill the apostate Garrett Hawke."

 

-

 

Danarius sits in a large chair in his great hall like a king on his throne, and Fenris stands just behind him to his right.

If Fenris ever doubts that Danarius is telling the truth about his past as Danarius's slave, it's moments like these that confirm his word as fact in his heart. It's too familiar, standing as stone at his master's shoulder, clad in spiked armour with a heavy greatsword ready to draw, slung across his back. He knows for certain he's done this before, many times, perhaps at dinners or conferences, in public and in private. It's far too familiar to be new, though it feels like a life lived long, long ago. 

He wills himself to be calm, and if he cannot stay calm, to be angry. He'd started training to fight for his master as soon as he was strong enough to leave his bed, but still he worries he cannot beat the powerful mage who comes now to take him again. Clearly he'd not had any victory against the man last time - is it even possible for him to succeed? Or will this man do as Danarius said he would if Fenris fails - kill his master, and spirit Fenris away to a shortened life of unspeakable torment as the lyrium is stripped from his bones?  

"The guards wait in the wings, should you fail me," Danarius says softly, as though reading Fenris's thoughts. "But I trust you will not fail." 

Fenris straightens his shoulders. _This is no time for doubt!_  "I will not." 

There is noise at the doors, and Fenris draws his sword, clutching the blade to his chest as he balances the tip on the floor. He must be ready. 

The doors burst open, and Garrett Hawke strides in. 

There is no doubt in Fenris's mind that he knows this man, the rush of familiarity slamming into him like a wave. He knows that black hair, the slash of red paint across the bridge of his nose, the length and breadth of him as well as he knows his own skin. The feeling is strong enough to crowd the anger out, leaving a path of confusion and doubt in its wake.  

He feels no hatred, seeing Hawke. He feels... relief? 

The feeling, amazingly enough, seems mutual, as the mage falters in his steps upon seeing him, lips falling gently open. "Fenris _..._ " 

" _I'll come for you, Fenris, I swear- I can't let you do this-_ " 

"Serah Hawke," Danarius says, his voice ice, snapping Fenris back into the present moment. "I do believe you're trespassing." 

Filing in behind Hawke are another mage - an apostate, presumably - a dwarf with a crossbow, and a towering redheaded woman with cold eyes and a murderous expression. Fenris tightens his grip on his pommel, taking in the party, praying his master does not expect him to fight all four of these people on his own.  

"I told you we'd come for him, Danarius," Hawke says, fixing his gaze upon Fenris's master, flames licking the palms of his hands - seemingly a result of barely controlled rage. "I warned you we wouldn't let you do this. He's no one's property." 

"And yet you would make him your own, is that right?" Danarius says, a small smile playing about his lips. "You would be his master again?" 

" _He has no master!_ " Hawke snarls, then looks up to Fenris, his face softening. "Fenris, has he hurt you? It's safe, you can leave his side now." 

Disturbed, Fenris steps back. Whatever he was expecting from this Hawke, it wasn't this.  

He looks to Danarius. "Master?" 

Hawke's face falls, looking devastated beyond words. Behind him, the blond mage mutters a quiet " _Shit_." 

"Lies, Fenris," Danarius says smoothly, and Fenris forces himself to focus on his master's words. "He seeks to woo you to his side. You know what you are, pet. He knows it too." 

"What have you _done?_ " Hawke shouts, raising his staff. 

In an instant, Fenris is in front of Danarius, sword raised. Whatever spell Hawke planned to cast chokes itself out before it can be released from the tip of his weapon, his eyes wide with horror.  

Fenris feels the static of impending magic, dark and bitter, and knows that Danarius is ready to strike, drawing upon the power of the sacrifice he'd made in the room one over from this one not ten minutes before. _Thank the Maker._  

"Fenris," Danarius says, his voice deep and echoing with power. "Kill the apostate." 

Fenris nods, and leaps. 

Hawke's companions race to raise their weapons against him, but shades and demons pop up from the shadows on all sides, hounding them away from their leader as they struggle to fight their own battles. Hawke raises an energy barrier that barely catches Fenris's sword in time, but flickers on the next blow, moments from giving way. 

"Fenris, _please,_ " Hawke says, sounding desperate as Fenris fights to cleave his greatsword through the mage's shield. "Whatever he's told you- whatever he's done, it's _lies,_  you have to know that! You're a free man-" 

The barrier gives, and Hawke throws himself to the side, barely missing Fenris's blade. With a growl, Fenris brings the sword up again, lunging at the apostate. 

A wall of air slams into Fenris, throwing him back into the path of a shade. Hawke cries out a warning ( _why?_ ) but Fenris's hand sinks into the thing's chest, and twists. It falls away into nothing, and Fenris's focus returns to the mage.  

"Listen to me," Hawke says, staff up, keeping a wary distance from Fenris as he prowls toward him. "You're _free,_  Fenris. You've been free for years. This man doesn't own you-" 

" _Shut up_ ," Fenris snarls, lunging forward. His mind is a maelstrom of half-memories, truths and untruths swirling around behind his eyes until he can scarcely think. _Kill the mage, and the pain will go away. Kill Hawke, and the confusion will subside._

Again Hawke avoids Fenris's blow, but he isn't so lucky the next time, lifting his staff to guard against the sword. The force of Fenris's swing drives Hawke to his knees, the blade scoring a deep notch into the hardwood of the staff, nearly cleaving it in two. 

With a grunt and the expertise of years spent fighting for his life, Hawke gives his staff a sudden twist, ripping the greatsword from Fenris's hands to fall far away, clattering across the stone floor and coming to a halt near where the redheaded giant is in the process of cutting a rage demon to pieces with her own sword and shield.  

"Fenris-" Hawke starts again, his eyes open and pleading. 

Without thought, without sparing a moment to doubt, Fenris plunges his hand into Hawke's chest, fist closing around the mage's heart. 

" _Garrett!_ " the dwarf shouts, and the other mage hollers something indecipherable, but they are far away and useless, and Fenris is moments from ripping Hawke's still-beating heart from his chest. 

This close, Fenris can see his eyes, a deep honey-gold that Fenris _knows,_  somehow. Knows far, far too well. And right now they are so very, very sad. _Why?!_  

"You broke our agreement, Hawke," Danarius says from somewhere, his voice tinny and strange in Fenris's ears. "Die knowing that you squandered his sacrifice."

_Agreement? Sacrifice?_

The words are just strange enough, just beyond the scope of Fenris's limited understanding, that he hesitates, his grip on Hawke's heart relaxing. 

There's something like an explosion between Hawke and Fenris, and Fenris is thrown clear across the hall, landing hard on the stone and smacking his head against the far wall. He scrambles to his feet, dazed, when a cage of dark energy descends on him, trapping him in place. He whirls with a snarl to see the blond mage with his hand outstretched, grim-faced and bloody from a cut over his left brow, eyes crackling bright blue with some unknown power.  

Hawke is prying the greatsword from his staff, his eyes fixed on Danarius. Fenris realizes that the majority of the shades and demons in the hall have been vanquished, the remaining few being rapidly cut down by the warrior woman and the dwarf. 

Danarius seems to realize this too, his eyes flicking to Fenris and filling with disgust and anger. "Guards!" 

There's no answer from the adjacent halls, and Hawke advances towards him, staff in hand and a bright flame gathering along its length. 

Danarius steps back, flinging his hand up to summon a shade to attack Hawke. It doesn't reach him before it's consumed by a sudden inferno, reduced to ash in moments. Danarius licks his lips, eyes wide. " _Guards!_ " 

"'Fraid not, sweetheart." 

Emerging from an adjacent hall is a woman dressed in a sinfully short tunic, dark hair held back by a bright blue bandana, and absolutely soaked in blood. On her heels is a young Dalish elf, staff held high, chin stubbornly set. 

"Your guards are dead, _shem_ ," the elf says, her lilting voice hard with anger. "May the Creators have mercy on you. _We_  certainly won't." 

"No," Hawke says, waving a hand and blasting the weakened magister's staff from his hand. Danarius stumbles back, hands raised. "We won't." 

"You _fool_ ," Danarius spits, falling back against his chair as Hawke steps within a stride's length of him. "The might of the Imperium will come down upon your head should you harm me, you would risk that for a _slave?_ " 

"He's not a slave," Hawke says, his voice cold. "And you won't ever touch him again." 

There's a bright flash, and Danarius bursts into flames.  

Fenris steps back in his cage, lips parted in shock as his master burns, screaming in agony in his dying moments. He should be horrified by his failure, horrified by the death of his master, horrified by the smell of burning flesh and the magister's last, pitiful moans. 

All he can think of, however, is Hawke's statement, his promise. _Danarius won't ever touch him again._  

Danarius falls silent, his corpse smouldering on the floor before his throne, and Hawke watches him burn for a few long, silent moments. Everyone in the hall seems to hold their breath, waiting on his next move.  

He turns, slinging his staff over his shoulder, and looks to Fenris.  

And in that moment, there's nothing in Fenris's heart but fear.  

He steps back, cursing his cage, and crouches, spiked gauntlets raised. If this mage plans to kill him, he won't die as Danarius did, cowering and pitiful. He'll fight to his last breath. 

"I'm not going to hurt you," Hawke says, sounding exhausted, his eyes drooping with that horrible sadness that feels far too personal. It makes Fenris uncomfortable to look at. "Fenris.. Maker, what has he done to you?" 

"Judging by the attempted murder, I'll assume he isn't quite the same as when he was taken," the blond mage says dryly. "Well, actually, murder _is_ a very Fenris move, in all honesty. The fact he tried to kill _you_ is new, however." 

"Do you remember us?" the redheaded woman asks, approaching Fenris's cage cautiously, her voice surprisingly gentle. "Any of us?" 

Fenris chooses not to answer her, not knowing what knowledge they might use to their advantage against him. Instead, he focuses his attention on Hawke. "I won't let you take me." 

"We can't leave you here," Hawke says, coming to a halt in front of Fenris's cage. Within arm's reach, if Fenris could pass through the barrier around him, which he knows instinctively he cannot. "You're not safe." 

"And I'd be safe with you?" Fenris snaps, gauntlets raised. "I know you've tried to kill me before, _mage._  I know you only wanted me for my blood." 

"Andraste's tits, what kind of stories has the magister been feeding him?" the dwarf asks, sounding almost amused. "Far more exciting than anything I've written." 

"Time and a place, Varric," the redhead says, the words sounding almost reflexive, more instinct than reprimand.  

"You truly believe that?" Hawke says, stepping closer, his eyes catching Fenris's gaze and trapping him there, pinned by twin pools of amber. _So familiar._  "Fenris, _look_  at me. Do you truly not know me?" 

He does know him. Fenris absolutely _knows_  the man standing scarce inches away from him, separated by a sheer veil of magic.  

But to fall for the man's words, to believe Garrett Hawke, would make him a fool beyond reckoning. There is no reason to think that this apostate isn't working some foul magic against him, isn't trying to lure him into a trap. 

"Danarius said I would know you," he says. "Why should that change anything?"

"Listen," the woman with the bandana says, kicking the remains of a rage demon out of the way as she approaches the group now somewhat crowded around Fenris's cage. "I recognize this is a very long complicated conversation that needs to happen, but I doubt this is a useful place to do it. Fen is clearly terrified, and given that you just made his ex-master do a rather convincing impression of a Feastday bonfire, I can't say I blame him. The ship's in the harbour and Danarius's neighbours are likely to come knocking shortly, so I'd suggest we get moving?" 

"The wench is right," the redhead says softly. "It's no good trying to do this here, Hawke, he won't listen." 

Hawke sighs. "Anders?" 

"He's fast, Hawke." 

"I'll be faster." 

_No!_

Fenris feels his muscles bunch and coil under his armour, preparing to spring. He won't let this happen. He failed, but he'll die before he lets himself be taken again.  

The barrier falls, and Fenris's arm snakes out, reaching once more for Hawke's heart. 

Hawke grabs his forearm and twists, forcing his hand behind his back and pulling him close. There are two fingertips pressed against his temple, and a low voice murmurs, "Sleep, Fenris." 

" _Go back to sleep, love._ " 

Confused, and utterly lost, Fenris feels the world go dark and senseless around him, and he drops.

 

-

 

Hawke catches Fenris before he hits the floor.  

It's almost too much, in that moment, seeing Fenris with his eyes closed, his face slack and close to peaceful, save the constant furrow in his brow. It's only been a month, maybe just a bit more, but every day Hawke has dreamed of seeing Fenris's face again.  

But not like this.  

"Save the angst, Hawke," Varric says, but gently. "We've got a ship to catch, remember?" 

Hawke nods, lifting Fenris up into his arms, cradling the elf against his chest. He remembers a night not too long ago, stumbling up the dark roads to Hightown from the Hanged Man, Fenris having drunk enough wine to down a wild boar. Hawke offered to carry him then, only slightly less drunk than his lover, and Fenris had given him such a charmingly scandalized look that Hawke had laughed for the next two blocks until Fenris stuck a foot out and tripped him, sending him tumbling down onto the cobblestones.  

Fenris, it would appear, does not remember that night, or any of the countless nights they've spent together over the past few years. Isabela's words ring hard in his ears. " _He's clearly terrified._ " 

He was. Fenris was afraid of him. And Hawke doesn't know how to fix it.  

He glances over his shoulder at the embers of Danarius and glowers, a deep and poisonous anger filling his heart. "It wasn't enough, killing him. I hope the fucker burns in the deepest obscurity of the Void."  

"The Dread Wolf will have his heart, there's no doubt," Merrill says, her voice strong and sure. "He looks after his own, you know, even if they don't follow the customs. Fenris and all the other slaves will be avenged."

"Yes, but at another time, perhaps," Isabela says impatiently. "Let's move, shall we?" 

They exit the hall swiftly, weapons raised and ready, alert for any sign of another attack. All save Hawke, who follows the others closely, but who can't keep his mind or his eyes off the elf he carries, still sleeping deeply in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you I wanted to set Danarius on fire.
> 
> *Chapter updated and edited May 2016.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why am I posting this at 3am? Because my job is hell, that's why. And I promised I'd have a chapter up today. Which is technically tomorrow. And I plan to have a chapter up tomorrow/today too! So three chapters should be up by Sunday night. Anyway.
> 
> Again warnings for mentions of noncon and such in this chapter. My only angst with writing this fic (aside from the angst) is that Fenris wasn't the one to kill Danarius in it because he so deserves that win. I'll make up for it in the long fic I want to write after this one (hopefully) (long fics are such a gamble).
> 
> Anyway enjoy and I live off your comments and love so I hope this fic is delivering for you.

_He remembers nights and nights of freezing barns, rocky caves, drafty cabins long left to decay. Life on the run was not a life of comfort, and only the sure notion that frigid freedom was far more precious than cozy captivity kept him going on the hungriest, coldest nights._

_So it's still a pleasant surprise when he wakes up in fine sheets, no armour to separate his bare skin from the luxury of soft cotton, and such delicious warmth as he's never known pressed close against him._

_"Sleep, love," a familiar voice murmurs, as soft and as warm as the sheets they lie tangled up in. "Sleep._ "

 

-

 

Fenris opens his eyes.

For a disorienting moment, he's confused that he's not in some large, well-furnished room, in a bed with sheets of red and gold and the sun shining on him. Then he blinks, and he's confused again that he's not lying on hard wood in his master's chamber, waking just before dawn so he might be ready to serve his master's needs.

Instead, he breathes and his nostrils are filled with the overwhelming scent of salt. The bed beneath him is small, but it is a bed, with a mattress stuffed with straw and a hard-woven wool blanket beneath him.

Fenris sways, or the room sways, and there's a long echoing creak that tells Fenris where he must be.

_A ship?_

"Hey."

Fenris whips around, heart battering at his ribcage as he sees the apostate Hawke seated at his side. _Far too close._

"Sorry, it's alright," Hawke says, lifting a hand, and wincing as Fenris flinches away from him. "I sat here for half an hour trying to come up with something to say to you, something that might help, but all I could think of was "hey." You'd mock me for that, likely, if... I'm sorry, I'm rambling. _Maker,_  I don't know how to fix this."

As Hawke makes this little speech, Fenris quickly assesses his position, and comes to the conclusion that it's not good. He's stripped of his armour, left only in a sleeveless shirt and his leggings, his bare hands bound before him.

( _They took off his collar, for some reason. Why would they take off his collar?_ )

Still, it wouldn't take much effort to phase through the bindings, make another grab for Hawke's heart. If he's fast enough...

His markings flash bright white-blue, pain spiking up his arm as they do, and he nearly rips his hand from his wrist snapping his arm back, expecting to phase through the rope. He doesn't, and his heart drops.

"Easy, shit, you're going to hurt yourself," Hawke says, alarmed, reaching for Fenris's wrists. He stops as Fenris jerks away from him, pushing back on the mattress with bare feet until his back hits a wall, and he has nowhere else to go.

He curls up there, assessing Hawke through narrowed eyes. The apostate's staff is leaning up against the far wall - _a stupid, deadly mistake_ \- and the man himself is holding himself carefully, the way a hunter might hold himself around his prey; forcibly casual, well aware that his target is liable to spook at the wrong word, a brush of cloth, a cracked twig.

And there... fuck, there are those eyes again. Those sad, pleading eyes. Fenris can't meet them for long, choked by some force in his chest that he doesn't understand.

Still, even bound as he is, even with his powers failing him, Fenris is far from helpless. If he's very fast and very lucky, he can get his bound wrists around the apostate's throat in a matter of seconds, breaking his neck or strangling him if need be. From there he could find a knife, cut through the bindings, make his way above deck...

"And then what?" Hawke says, startling him.

Fenris hisses and pulls himself closer to the wall, glaring over his knees at the mage. " _Stay out of my head._ "

"I wasn't in your head, I just-" Hawke sighs, running a hand over his untidy black hair. "I know you, Fenris. I see those eyes of yours working the room, I know _how_  you think. So you kill me, you manage to slip the bindings, and then what? You can't use your lyrium, you might have a knife if you're lucky, though I promise you Anders was very thorough in his check for potential murder weapons when we brought you in here. You'd be relatively unarmed in the middle of the ocean and even if by some miracle you managed what that thrice-cursed magister and his demons could not, killed us all, you'd _still_ be in the middle of the ocean on a ship you could not sail. Believe me, Isabela will tell you, you're a shite seaman, no offence."

Fenris bares his teeth, but he knows that the apostate is right. For now, he's at the mercy of the ocean, and so, at the mercy of his captors. _Fasta vass._

"What have you done to me?" he asks, his voice seething with venom as he lifts his wrists to indicate the bindings.

Hawke looks away, guilt colouring his strong features. "A diluted solution of magebane can, as it turns out, block your access to the Fade. Anders insisted on it, given that you'd- well, that you're not quite yourself right now. The magebane is part of how Danarius managed to recapture you."

Fenris's head snaps up at that. "You _took_ me from him, it wasn't a capture, it was a _rescue-_ "

Hawke's brows draw together, his fists clench, and Fenris has said something wrong, he knows. Though the apostate is his captor, and Danarius's murderer, Fenris is still only a slave at the end of the day. There is nothing to stop this man from dropping his act, whatever ruse he has planned, and taking whatever he wants from Fenris while he lies there helpless and screaming.

_Like Danarius would, with the retraining, lyrium burning white hot and the smell of it acrid in his nose, his ears broken by the volume of his own screams..._

"Whatever lies that _filth_  told you, they were _lies_ , Fenris," Hawke says, his voice strained with some hot rage that reminds Fenris of the flames that consumed his master. "You're a free man, you have been for years-"

"No," Fenris says, shaking his head, because no matter how afraid he is he cannot, _cannot_  let this man drip his lies into his mind. _Because... of retraining? But Danarius is dead. No, no, he cannot be weak!_  " _No,_  I do not believe you. I am a slave, born and lived a slave-"

"You _escaped._ "

Fenris stares at Hawke for a long moment, then laughs, brittle and empty. "Now I know that you are false. Whatever your romantic Southern stories might tell you, no slave would risk the punishment brought down upon him for running."

"And how would you know about such stories, Fenris?" Hawke says, something of desperation in his voice. "If Danarius spoke truly, and you lived your whole life a Tevinter slave, where would you have learned of Southern tales?"

Fenris scowls. "One does not have to live in a place to know some of its culture. You embarrass yourself with your lies. If you are to kill me, I would rather you do it with your true face, _Serah_  Hawke. Not like a farmer who leads a cow to the slaughter with the promise of treats."

Hawke stands, the stool he abandons carelessly scraping across the rough wood floor as he turns his back, his hands in his hair again. Fenris waits, willing himself not to show his fear, expecting the apostate to turn around with obvious cruelty writ large across his face, those warm honey eyes frozen with disdain.

_The face he imagines is Danarius's, he realizes with a lurch of discomfort. Why, why with his master dead does he now see him as some kind of villain, when all the magister ever did was help him?_

As it is, when Hawke turns back his face is unchanged, save an added weight of exhaustion around his eyes. Fenris does not know if he's relieved, or even more scared than he was moments before. 

"This is getting us nowhere," Hawke says, taking up his stool again and moving it back to Fenris's bedside. "I'm sorry, I just- no, I'm sorry. Please, tell me what you remember. The first thing you remember."

Fenris turns his face away, closing his eyes. 

 

_He was in pain, when he woke up. Like every part of him had been raked through hot coals and left to burn._

_Through the fog of confusion and agony he saw stone walls, and beside him, an aging man with hungry eyes._

_"Where...?" he tried to speak, his voice coming out in a broken croak._

_"Do you remember me?" the man said, a cold precise voice that he knew, and did not know..._

_He tried to think, but there was nothing but the fog, and the pain._

_"No," he rasped, panic rising in his chest. "I remember nothing. I... I remember nothing-!"_

_"Calm yourself," the man commanded, and he obeyed, though his mind and heart were in absolute turmoil. "This was to be expected, though it is unfortunate. Your name is Fenris, and I am your master, Danarius."_

_He - Fenris - could hardly process the words, hardly think for the fog clouding his mind... but he could feel the hard leather of a collar around his throat, and some part of him knew the man's words to be true. "Fenris" felt true. "Danarius" felt true. "Master," which would make him..._

_"I am a slave," Fenris whispered, and some part of his mind whispered back, "true."_

_"You are my slave," Danarius - his master - corrected sternly. "And I have just spent quite a lot of time and effort retrieving you from a very painful end. How would you respond?"_

_Some part of him knew, instinctively, what his master needed him to say._

_"Thank you, master," Fenris said, and though the words felt true, some part of him felt withered and wrong for saying them._

_Danarius, seemingly oblivious of Fenris's turmoil, seemed pleased. "Very good. You see, Fenris, you are very lucky. You have always been my favourite, and though I imagine it would have been smarter not to go to such lengths to retrieve my stolen property, when you were taken from me I did everything in my power to retrieve you."_

_"Taken?"_

_Danarius frowned, and it took Fenris a moment to realize why. "My apologies, master. I should not have spoken out of turn."_

_Danarius sighed. "It's alright. I will be forced to spend some time retraining you, but for now I need you to listen. Yes, you were taken. A crazed apostate with a thirst to hold the kind of power the Magisterium possesses bested you, and stole you away. The lyrium I gifted you, you see, was valuable to him, and you would have provided a blood sacrifice to go along with it. I barely stopped the man in time, but not before you were... damaged."_

_Lyrium?_

_Fenris glanced down his body - bare, he realized, and bound to a cold black marble table in this cold, stone chamber. For a moment a flash of some remembered agony sparked behind his eyes, causing him to flinch, but then it was gone, and he remembered nothing._

_But yes, there was the lyrium, carved in swirling elegant patterns into his skin. It, too, felt true. Familiar._

_"Your memories were lost somewhere along the line," Danarius said, shrugging. "A pity, but not very important in the long run. I trust you can serve just as well without them, can you not?"_

_Could he? He would have to. The collar around his neck bound him to his duty, and he knew there would be no escaping it._

_Escape? Why would he think of escape?_

_"Yes, master," he said, though he could hardly remember the question._

_Danarius nodded and snapped his fingers, and the bindings around Fenris's wrists and ankles fell away into nothing. Fenris sat up slowly, every muscle in his body screaming with pain as he did so, though he dared not make a sound._

_"Cover yourself," Danarius said, handing Fenris a long white cotton tunic. "You will need more rest, and this is hardly the place for it."_

_Fenris survived the torture of dressing himself by grinding his teeth together and praying for strength, then he stood on shaky feet and carefully followed his master out the door._

_The walk to Danarius's chamber was lost in fog and confusion, but then there was the sound of a door closing, and Fenris was aware again, if only barely. Still cold, but this room was somewhat less imposing than the room with the black marble slab, though Fenris felt some strange sense of foreboding when his eyes fell upon a large bed acting as the room's centerpiece._

_"You will sleep in here, of course," Danarius said, pointing to a pallet clearly meant for a personal slave, wooden planks set against the wall furthest from the fireplace. "As you did before. Things will be back to normal very soon, I promise it."_

_"Yes, master."_

_Danarius looked Fenris over for a moment, some calculation happening behind frigid blue eyes, then he smiled. "Disrobe, Fenris."_

_Unsure of where this was leading and loathe to part with the only article of clothing separating him from the cold of the stone chamber, Fenris nonetheless obeyed. It was, after all, his duty._

_Danarius surveyed him for another long moment, then said, "Stand at the end of the bed, your back to me."_

_Fenris obeyed, his mind wrestling with the strange fog, fear and confusion taking turns to strangle his heart._

_There was a sigh, a few steps, and suddenly he felt Danarius's hand on his shoulder, sliding slowly down his back._

_"Oh, my dear little wolf," Danarius whispered, and Fenris felt him step closer, the cloth of his robes pressed against his back, his breath heavy against his temple. "How I've missed you."_

_This close, Danarius's body pressed against Fenris's back, Fenris could feel the hard line of the magister's arousal through his robes._

_"No!" he snarled, some blazing fury he did not understand, did not own, burning through him in a wave of utter madness as he leapt away from his master's touch._

_Before he could process what had happened, before he could begin to understand what had gone wrong, his world exploded in a searing agony from which there was no escape._

_He did not feel himself fall upon the cold stone, could not control his writhing anymore than he could stifle his screams. The lines of lyrium in his flesh burned with no relief, no way to put the torture from his mind. Suffering was his only existence, all he knew, everything else gone and lost and utterly insignificant when faced with such unbearable torment..._

_Then it stopped, and he found himself curled up on the stone, throat raw and face wet with tears he did not remember shedding._

_Danarius kneeled before him, face stern, and Fenris shied away, terrified his master would hurt him again, throw him back into that fiery pit of anguish he had wreaked upon his flesh._

_"You are a dog, Fenris," Danarius said coolly. "Unfortunately, as I expected might happen, your time with the apostate who took you broke your weak mind. Made you feral, barbarous, stupid. Many in my position might abandon such a slave as a lost cause, and put your broken mind and body to work in some other fashion less comfortable than the role you held previously."_

_Fenris was far too confused, far too wary of pain to move, watching his master for any clue of what to do next._

_Eventually, Danarius sighed, putting a hand on Fenris's head, petting his hair. The gentle touch was its own kind of agony after his torment, and Fenris found himself shaking under Danarius's hand._

_"I am far more merciful than most, and it's bound to be my undoing one day," Danarius said, shaking his head. "As I said, Fenris, you were my favourite. Perhaps you might be once more. But this is how we must do it - I will retrain you like this, taking a whip to my wild dog until it's housebroken again. You'll try not to disappoint me, won't you, Fenris?"_

_Fenris nodded, then at Danarius's hard look, quickly added, "Yes, master."_

_"Good." Danarius stood, and started to unbutton the front of his robes. "As before, Fenris - stand before me, where I placed you, and do as I say. Perhaps you'll help me forget your disobedience."_

_Resigned, and frightened, and so very tired, still lost in that clinging fog that consumed his life before this cold, empty hour, Fenris forced himself to his feet, and did as his master commanded._

 

"Fenris?"

Fenris feels his lip curl. No, the apostate was not entitled to know these things. Not all of it. Not his doubts.

"I awoke in my master's manor after he repaired whatever damage _you_  did to me," Fenris said lowly. "Everything before that is lost, whatever life I lived, because of _you._ "

He hears a sharp inhalation, almost like a gasp of pain, and his eyes flick back to Hawke. There's that guilt again, more prominent than before, and it makes Fenris angry to see. _Why would you do what you did to me if you were just going to feel bad about it later? Do you expect me to sympathize?_

Hawke clasps his hands together, voice hollow as he speaks. "I... received word from an associate of mine, one I- I trusted. He wanted to meet alone, and he'd wanted to before, I didn't think-" he closes his eyes, taking a long, shuddering breath before he continues. "You didn't trust him. You came with me." 

"Why?" Fenris asks flatly. "Am I to believe that you were my master, and I your loyal slave?"

Danarius had insinuated as much, Fenris realizes with a jolt. The thought makes him uneasy.

"Maker, _no,_  Fenris," Hawke says, shaking his head. "You were- you _are_  a free man. And you were my... friend."

_Lie._  Fenris doesn't quite know how he knows it, but he's come to trust those little whispers at the back of his mind, helping him perceive truth from falsehood. There is something Hawke is holding back, something untrue about his statement, but Fenris allows him to continue, curious to see what other lies he might catch along the way of this tale.

"We went to the Wounded Coast to meet him, but it was a trap," Hawke says, looking down at his clasped hands. "Danarius... the bastard knew if someone asked _you_  to meet them alone, no matter how much you trusted them, you would never be foolish enough to go. And he knew were I foolish enough... you wouldn't let me."

When Hawke looks up, there's a sheen in his eyes suggesting of tears, and there's a hard lurch in Fenris's stomach and the most unsettling urge to... to what? Go to him? Comfort him?

"So you see," Hawke says, as Fenris's mind reels and he struggles to keep his thoughts in check, "it was because of me. More so, because with me there, you felt you had to-" Hawke stops, looks at Fenris for a long moment, then puts his face in the palm of his hand, clearing his throat. "Well, that's a conversation for another time. My point is, Fenris, that if you wish to be angry with me, you have just cause. I'd just rather you were angry for the truth, over Danarius's lies."

Fenris doesn't know what to say to this, how to react. It's lies, obviously, clearly lies...

_But it doesn't feel like lies._

And more, even if it were, there's a part of Fenris... one of those parts he doesn't understand, that seems to think and act and feel without his permission, nearly purged from him entirely by Danarius's ruthless retraining... part of him _wants_  it to be true. _Wants_  this strange, sad man to be his friend.

And that scares him more than anything.

He clenches his bound hands into fists, crowding the fear out with rage. _They've imprisoned him, here. Hawke has lied, and he knows it. He must still be lying so Fenris does not kill him. He must be using magic somehow, getting into Fenris's head._

"When we get to... wherever it is you're taking me, what will happen to me then?" Fenris asks, keeping his voice level.

There's a pause, then Hawke says, "That's... well, I suppose that's up to you. I- I want you to- I would be very glad if you came home, but you're a free man, as I've said."

There's weight to those words, like Hawke is loathe to say them, like each syllable causes him pain. Fenris doesn't know why, doesn't _want_  to know why, hates that his heart clenches in response to Hawke's distress.

"Where's home?" Fenris finds himself asking.

Hawke pauses again, far too long for Fenris to trust whatever he says next, then answers, "Kirkwall. In the Free Marches. That's where we're headed."

_Not a lie... but not a truth, either._

"What if I choose to leave?" Fenris says, lifting his head to look Hawke in the eyes, issuing a challenge with his words and his glare. "What if I choose to disappear when we arrive, find some other town, never look upon you or Kirkwall again? Would you let me go?"

Hawke meets his gaze, his expression overwhelmingly unreadable but not without feeling, not without that persistent sadness that wears on the last of Fenris's nerves. Then, to his shock, Hawke smiles, just a little. "Maker, but I've missed you, Fenris."

" _Oh, my dear little wolf, how I've missed you..._ "

Feeling ill, Fenris looks away.

There's a scrape of the stool again, then a creak, and Hawke is half-kneeling on the bed, reaching for Fenris.

Fear spikes through him, the very real knowledge of how much larger Hawke is compared to Fenris, how easy it would be to be overpowered by him with Fenris's wrists bound and his armour stripped away shooting through him like a lightning bolt.

" _Don't touch me,_ " Fenris hisses, scrambling into a crouch, ready to spring-

Then he sees that Hawke is not reaching for him, but offering an open palm, waiting for Fenris to approach him, his eyes as warm and as sad as ever.

"I won't ever hurt you, Fenris," Hawke says softly, as Fenris eyes the offered hand warily, heart still pounding hard against his ribcage. "Nor will I touch you without your express permission. You have my word, on my mother's soul, that I mean you no harm. I was just going to ask to see those bindings, if you'll allow it."

_True._

Fenris blinks. True? Can a man lie to himself as well as others, offer such a vow with the intent to break it as soon as the walls are down? Fenris only has a month's worth of memories, nothing compared to a life of remembered experience, but by some recessive knowledge he knows that it's possible, knows that somewhere along the line he has seen vows made and broken in the same breath, and might have done the same himself.

But there's such force to that instinctive judgement. _True._  The vow Hawke makes now will hold firm, is a direct reflection of his thoughts, and does not contain doublespeak or hidden malice. There's not even room to think this might be some sly magecraft worked against him, such is the force of his belief. _True._

Garrett Hawke means him no harm.

Unsure what to do with this revelation, with the possible implications, Fenris offers his bound wrists to Hawke's waiting hand, feeling utterly numb as he does so.

Hawke wraps large, calloused hands around the bindings, careful not to touch Fenris's skin. This close, Fenris can see what look like old scars running up Hawke's hands and wrists, disappearing into the folds of his robes, reappearing at his neck and crossing over his face. They're faint, spidery, but they're there, looking like branches of lightning criss-crossing his skin. _How could someone become scarred this way?_  Magic of some kind, no doubt.

As Fenris watches, Hawke reaches into his robes to pull out a small knife (and Fenris flinches, nearly jerking his hands away, _but Hawke vowed not to harm him_ ), and starts to cut through the ropes around Fenris's wrists. 

"Anders is going to kill me for this, so if you plan to murder us, please take care of him first before I have to hear him say "I told you so,"" Hawke says, shaking his head a little. "And speaking of Anders, apparently he gave you a mild concussion when he tossed you around yesterday, but he's assured me he's healed it. He wants me to tell you - because he is on strike while you are conscious, apparently - that as for the burns around the lyrium markings-" at this, Hawke pauses, his hands trembling a little as he takes a long, steadying breath, "-he can't heal them properly without aggravating the situation further, so he suggests you try to keep the sparkly thing under control and give them a rest for a bit. That means no phasing, either, so it's probably not a bad thing they're out of commission right now."

"Burns?" Fenris asks, looking down at his arms. The markings are edged by skin that is damaged, certainly, red and pink welts lining the lyrium and so constantly sore that Fenris has never remembered not being in pain, but... "They've always been there."

The last loop of rope around his wrists snaps under Hawke's knife, upon which the mage has developed a white-knuckle grip. "No, they haven't."

Fenris eyes the marks again, thoughtfully. Could it be possible? Might his skin heal, and the pain leave him for good? He can't even conceive what such an existence might feel like.

"You can stay in here, if you like," Hawke says, his hands still cradling Fenris's wrists with only a layer of broken rope between their skin. Fenris doesn't know if Hawke is doing this consciously, and doesn't know why he hasn't moved his own hands away. "This is the infirmary, essentially, no one will bother you here. I'll bring food for you - or if you don't want to see me, I'll send someone else to you. But honestly, I'd suggest joining the rest of us in the regular sleeping quarters with the crew. We've got hammocks there, and ships have a habit of tilting, so this bed might not be in your best interest if you don't want to wake up on the floor."

"You're allowing me to walk the ship freely?" 

Hawke smiles again, and Fenris can't help but wonder at how kind his eyes are, how damnably _familiar._  "Like I said, I know how you think. It would take an enormous amount of trust on your part to believe me when I tell you I will not hurt you. Consider it an exchange. If you can trust me not to hurt you, then I think I can trust you not to hurt me."

Fenris frowns at that. For something so incredibly stupid, it sounds disturbingly logical. 

Hawke seems to realize in the silence that follows that he's still holding Fenris's wrists, and with a nearly imperceptible slump of his shoulders, he lowers his hands to the mattress and slips them out from under the ropes. "If you need anything... if you have any questions at all that you want to ask of me, you can come to me at any time. Even if it's three in the morning and I'm snoring like a fat mabari, if you need me, wake me."

Fenris nods, very tired all of a sudden, the rage and the fear flooded out from him. His world is upside-down and his mind is telling him a dozen conflicting things and all he wants, all he can think of, is how warm the circle of Hawke's arms around him would feel. How safe.

_Lies. Truth. Lies._

Hawke takes his silence with a gentle nod, then stands, and turns to leave. 

Fenris does not watch, but listens to the footsteps of Hawke's brief journey to the door of the infirmary, only looking up when the door does not open. Hawke stands frozen there on the threshold, something clearly on his mind by the tense set of his shoulders.

"Yes," Hawke says eventually, slightly turning his head, not enough for Fenris to read his expression. "Yes, if when we arrive in Kirkwall, you wish to go, I will not stop you. I would insist you take some coin with you, as well as some of your things, but ultimately... ultimately, you are free. And I would be doing you a great harm if I saved you from Danarius for myself. That is not what I want."

He breathes, and turns away, his head bowed.

"But if you do leave... know that you will always be able to come home. No matter how long it's been, no matter what you've done. You will always have a home, and the door will always be open to you, should you want it."

Fenris is saved from having to find a response by Hawke's hasty exit after he finishes speaking, slipping through the door and gone before Fenris can think of anything to say.


	3. 3

For the first few days, Fenris does not leave the room, though as Hawke warned he wakes more than once from restless dreams in the midst of tumbling from the bed. It's a minor inconvenience for the sake of privacy, a luxury he does not remember ever experiencing. 

_Because he was always at Danarius's elbow, or had Danarius at his back, whether the magister was eating or bathing or sleeping. Because he was indebted to Danarius. Because Danarius owned him. Because he was not, could not have ever been free._

Hawke knocks on the door three times a day with food, hard oat cakes and cured meats and water that has the bitter smack of alcohol on the finish, presumably to keep it from spoiling on the journey. He says nothing to Fenris other than a "good morning," "good afternoon," and "good night," and Fenris says nothing in return. He cannot look at Hawke without his mind getting lost in a whirlwind of confusion, so he averts his eyes, letting Hawke slip a wooden plate through the barely-opened door, and accept the last used plate in return. The chamberpot Fenris deals with himself, late in the night when he's certain all but the scarce night watch are asleep. Then he creeps through the ship as quietly as he can, risking a small amount of light from his markings to get to the stairs leading up to the deck, which are thankfully close to his room. Even as he completes the wretched chore of casting his leavings overboard, he often takes a moment to feel the salt air on his skin and in his hair, fresh and clean in a way that the dry heat of Tevinter and the cold stone of Danarius's manor never was. One night he puts the chamberpot aside and allows himself some time, an hour, just to prop his elbows up on the side and stare up at the stars, recognizing constellations and putting names and stories to them with no knowledge of how he learned them, no memories of ever having been shown. 

Then he feels a prickle on his neck, the sense that he's being watched, and he turns to see the dwarf leaning up against the mast and observing him, the moon casting his features in sharp relief as he considers Fenris with a keen eye.

Fenris feels his own expression harden, and without a word he picks up his chamberpot and disappears below deck.

The days spent alone give him far too much time to think, to the point where he starts to accept that he might just be going mad. In one half of his mind, Danarius is his master, the one who saved him and declared him his favourite, giving him a place of high esteem by his side. He should have loved his master, but failing that, he did respect him, maybe even cared for him. And in this account Garrett Hawke was the apostate responsible for his loss of memory, who'd tried to kill him, and who'd set Fenris's master and saviour ablaze to die in agony before him, because he failed. Fenris failed.

But in the other half... the half for which he has no proof but Hawke's insistent word, that vow he knows to be true...

In the other half, he imagines that he might have been a free man, once. An entirely different person, one who stood tall and never cowered in fear of a magister's displeasure. A person who made his own choices, and who was of an equal standing as Hawke, who was his... friend?

Fenris knows what he wants to think they were to one another, in this other universe, but it's already fragile enough to hold the delusion that he might have been free.

And that's where it starts to fall apart, always falls apart. Because a free man would not have submitted to Danarius, if Danarius were indeed the monster that Hawke seems to think he was. He tries to imagine Hawke curled up like a pet dog on a small wooden pallet, his head constantly bowed in silent respect, hanging on Danarius's every word, every command. Constantly vying for his master's praise, thinking only of his master's desires, and offering his body, his life to his master, fulfilling his master's every passing whim...

No, Fenris cannot imagine that, and so he cannot imagine himself ever being like Hawke. 

And if he ever were, he realizes dully, on his fourth day at sea. If he ever were, that free man is gone and dead, lost to the fog of forgotten memories, and so it truly doesn't matter in the end.

Once, there's a knock at the door and instead of just Hawke, the blonde mage Anders stands there, looking sour as an unripe lemon as Hawke ushers him through the door. 

"Hawke would not put you to sleep before bringing me in here, nor allow me to do the same, so I will only say this once," the healer growls, gesturing to the bed. "Try to murder me in any way, and it will end very badly for you. I'm sure there's enough of us here to stage a coup against the " _Champion of Kirkwall_ ," and Isabela has told me that she does in fact own a plank that I would very gladly make you walk."

"Andraste's tits, Anders, I said to _try_ to be civil," Hawke says, leaning up against the far wall with an exasperated look on his face as Fenris takes a seat on his bed, Anders pulling the stool close to his side.

"This _is_ civil," Anders says, brusquely rolling up his sleeves. "The elf already wanted to murder me before, I'm not entirely thrilled that he thinks we're trying to kill him."

Fenris waits for his temper to rise, as it seems to so easily without Danarius's firm grip on him now, but he's surprised to realize that he's almost relieved by Anders' manner. Kindness from these people, he cannot fully trust, but hatred? Well, hatred is refreshingly honest, and if anything it puts him at ease.

"I take it we didn't get along," he says without thinking, a dry wit he never knew he had colouring his words. He ducks his head, instinctively expecting a reprimand, for Danarius's eyes to harden and his markings to light up with white hot pain-

Instead, Anders and Hawke snort in unison, though there's a smile in Hawke's laughter that Anders does not share.

"No, see, I'm a mage," Anders says, as he conjures a small light at the tip of his finger and shines it in one of Fenris's eyes, then the other, looking for something that Fenris cannot guess to understand. "And you hate _all_ mages with a fiery, burning passion."

Fenris frowns. "I do?"

Anders' hand falls away from Fenris's face, his eyebrows lifted in clear shock. After a moment, he looks to Hawke, who seems equally bemused. "Never mind, Garrett, I prefer this Fenris. He seems far more reasonable."

" _Anders._ "

There's something dangerous in Hawke's tone, and Anders seems to hear it. With a put-upon sigh, he turns his attention back to Fenris. "Hawke insists I ask first, so here I am, asking: I will need to touch you for this next part, nothing beyond your head and your arms. Am I in mortal danger if I do?"

For a moment, Fenris considers exercising his right to say no, just to see if he can. But Anders is clearly helping him with no intention of trying to get close to him, isn't acting like he knows him, so Fenris just shrugs and says, "Go ahead."

"Maker preserve us, you managed to say it without growling like a rabid dog, too," Anders mutters, too quietly for Hawke to hear. Fenris just manages to catch his own wince at the quip, recalling how Danarius called him a dog. _Because he is a dog. He isn't. He is. He isn't._ Anders takes Fenris's chin in hand and guides his head to turn, gently prodding at the back of Fenris's head where Fenris remembers smacking it against the wall during the fight. "Does this hurt?"

"No."

Anders nods, and says, "See, Hawke? No harm, no foul. Now will you thank me for saving your life?"

Fenris is confused, then he remembers - right, he'd tried to kill Hawke. He'd tried very hard to kill Hawke, in fact. And he'd had good reason... he's certain he'd had good reason...

Anders places two fingers on the inside of Fenris's wrist and presses lightly, unable to avoid touching the markings. They light up at the contact, reacting to whatever magic Anders holds inside him, and Fenris hisses a little in pain.

"Fenris-?" Hawke says, clearly concerned as he starts forward.

" _Back,_  Hawke, I won't be able to work if you're hovering at my shoulder," Anders says. Reluctantly, it seems, Hawke casts Fenris a worried look and falls back against the wall. "How have they been feeling? The markings?"

"They... hurt, still, as they always have," Fenris says, unsure of how to speak in front of two mages, not wanting to give away how much he's been doubting his few remaining memories over the past few days. "Hawke said that the... burns, that they were new."

"They are," Anders confirms matter-of-factly, and Fenris's mind is set to spinning again. "Though they look a little better than they did that first night. Was Danarius doing something with them that might have caused the burns?"

_White-hot pain, and screaming, and no relief, no respite from the endless agony..._

"Retraining," Fenris says quietly.

Hawke looks away, eyes shut tight with anger or sorrow, Fenris cannot tell. Anders' sour expression softens, a little, and Fenris finds he does not appreciate the change. 

Thankfully, the healer expresses no pity in his voice when he continues. "What did this... "retraining" consist of?"

"I do not know for certain," Fenris says, fighting to keep his voice equally expressionless. "I... often was not- I sometimes- I acted in ways that were not suitable, because of the damage to my mind. Danarius would correct this by causing the markings to burn, like- like a hot brand, only more, and- everywhere."

"Like you described," Anders says. The comment is not directed at Fenris, however, but at Hawke, who still keeps his face angled away. Before Fenris can puzzle this through, however, Anders is moving on, still examining the burns around the markings. "And how often would this happen? Any time within the past week, for example?"

Fenris blinks. "Daily."

There's a horrible thud and cracking sound, causing Fenris to jump. He looks up to see Hawke extracting his fist from a new dent in the wall, a long fissure running up and down the length of the unfortunate plank.

"If you broke your hand doing that, I'm not fixing it," Anders says sharply. Hawke doesn't reply, something stricken and fairly murderous in his expression as he glowers at the plank, clearly thinking of going again. "Well, that would explain why the burns looked fresh. I would use magic to heal them, but I'm afraid of how it would interact with the markings. Ultimately I'd probably wind up doing more harm than good. I'll have some elfroot salve sent to Hightown when we return."

"Hightown?"

"That's where you and Hawke live," Anders says, releasing Fenris's wrist. "You two have a fancy manor up there. Nicer place than most in Kirkwall, so lucky you."

Fenris frowns, shaking his head. "Hawke and I... we lived together?"

Anders is still for a good long moment, staring openly at Fenris, then turns to look at Hawke. " _Garrett?_ "

"Outside, Anders."

"Did you honestly not tell him-?"

" _I said outside._ "

Anders' mouth settles in a hard line, and without another word to Fenris he's on his feet and stalking towards the door, Garrett looking equally incensed as he follows Anders out and slams the door behind him. 

Fenris can hear them start to argue, but they're not close enough for him to make out the words, and soon they're up the stairs and on the deck and beyond his hearing. Still frowning, Fenris lies back on the bed, struggling not to put Anders' words and his own mixed feelings together as it's far too close, far too inflammatory and dangerous, but even so...

_I live with Hawke?_

And that secret, unknown part of him answers, _True._

-

 

Two nights later Fenris sits on the bow of the ship, bare feet dangling over the edge as the inky water below parts like a curtain of stars around the vessel, the waning moon high in the sky above. He's been sitting here for an hour, maybe two, and though he should retreat to the little prison he's made for himself, he doesn't want to. Not just yet, anyway. Not while his mind is so full even the open sky doesn't seem big enough to contain all his thoughts. 

"If you fall over the side, Hawke won't be very happy."

Fenris looks over his shoulder to see the pirate woman - the captain, he realizes belatedly. His grip on the oak beneath him tightens. "Can I help you?"

She smiles, but it's a little sad, too. Fenris looks away as she speaks. "I take it you don't remember me?"

"You were with Hawke at the manor," Fenris says, very conscious of the pirate approaching him from behind. He relaxes only slightly when she props her elbows up on the rail beside him, but far enough away that he's not within arm's reach of her. It helps. 

"And we met six years ago, have known each other since then, but you're not wrong," the woman says, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. "Isabela. Or, "that wench," if Aveline's the one saying it. She's the big girl, fire-head. She actually requested time off from the guard to get you back, you know. Donnic better watch his back."

None of this means anything to Fenris, so he doesn't answer, hoping she'll get the hint and leave. 

Isabela looks up at him, copper eyes unreadable. "We'll be docking tomorrow evening, maybe the day after if the wind's against us. What are you planning to do?"

Fenris drops his gaze to the waves beneath him again, and says, "I do not know."

"That's fair," Isabela says, looking out to sea. "I can't imagine it's very comfortable being in a company of one-sided strangers."

There's no pity or sympathy in her voice, just a frank assessment. Fenris finds himself appreciating it, much the same way he did Anders' blatant dislike. 

And, on the thought of Anders...

"I live with Hawke?" he asks, before he can stop himself, but it's been digging at him for two days, now. The conflicting realities are hard enough to parse one from the other, and now this...

Isabela nods, and rolls her eyes. "Yes, and believe me, this ship isn't big enough for Hawke and Anders to be butting heads like that. Nearly threw them both over the side for the sake of peace and quiet."

Fenris huffs a little laugh, surprising himself. He doesn't remember having ever laughed before. 

A few moments pass in easy silence, then Fenris says, "Hawke said we were... friends. I- I had a feeling that wasn't quite true."

"No memories, though?"

"A feeling, only."

Isabela sighs. "Well, no one else seems willing to smack this particular pony's arse, so I might as well. You two were lovers."

Fenris tenses, even as that traitorous voice within him murmurs, _True._

"No," Fenris says harshly, shaking his head. "A slave has no "lover." Their body belongs only to their master. Hawke says he was not my master."

"He wasn't," Isabela says. "And you loved him on your own accord, everyone knows you did. As he loves you."

Fenris swings his legs back over the side of the ship and stalks away, his mind about ready to split in two. 

_Hawke loves him. True. He lived with Hawke. True. Hawke would never harm him. True._

But it couldn't be, and it isn't, because- because he was a slave, _is_  a slave, whether the collar is off or no.

He finds a seat on a set of stairs and puts his head in his hands, temples aching. There's a faint jingle of jewelry, and the wood creaks as the pirate sits next to him.

"You don't have to answer this, but this past month... did Danarius...?" Isabela asks, and though she doesn't finish her sentence, Fenris knows what she's implying.

" _Show me your love for your master, Fenris._ "

He thinks of walking away again, locking himself in his little room and refusing to see anyone, not even opening the door for food and drink, until they've landed. But some part of him _wants_  to tell her, wants someone's judgement outside his own on the matter. So he nods. 

Isabela lets out a low hiss. "I'm sorry."

"One does not pity a chamberpot for performing its duty, so why pity a slave?" Fenris says dully. 

"I've heard that before, that's Tevinter speaking, and it's bullshit," Isabela says, her voice hard. 

Fenris just hugs his knees to his chest and leans back against the stair, eyes closed. If he did not do it out of duty, then he did it because he was weak, and that... he doesn't want to think that, doesn't want to accept it. Not yet, anyway. 

Minutes pass, then Isabela says, "Between the shouts and accusations of emotional constipation, Anders mentioned something I thought you might want to know."

Fenris isn't exactly sure he wants to know anything else, not after what he's already learned, but he opens his eyes regardless. "Hm?"

"Apparently Hawke could... share some of his memories with you," Isabela says, waving a hand. "I don't pretend to understand magic, but Anders proposed he do it to fill in some gaps. Hawke seemed under the impression that you would not be pleased with having thoughts planted magically into your head, and I know the "you" of two months ago would agree with him. However, it is an option, and one for you alone to decide."

Fenris frowns. Hawke putting thoughts in his mind is _exactly_  what he's most afraid of, something he still worries has already happened since he first woke up on this ship just over a week ago. 

But Hawke vowed never to harm him. _True._  

The question would be, would Hawke consider lies to count as harm?

"I would have to think about it," he says eventually.

"Well, you won't have much time to do that if you're planning on taking off as soon as the ship lands," Isabela says slyly.

Fenris drops his head into his knees with a growl. " _Kaffas._ "

Isabela laughs, then says, "Listen; I know it would be... difficult, to go back with Hawke, knowing what you know and not knowing what you don't know - my, that's a mind-bender. Anyway. Varric and I have rooms at an inn in Lowtown called the Hanged Man. They know you there, you're one of the only people who drinks their priced-up wine. I'm sure they'll not begrudge you a room for a few nights while you figure things out - Maker, they'd probably let you stay forever as long as you keep drinking their knock-off Tevinter reds. That at least gives you some space to think, while staying in a city where people will actively help you if you're being jumped by bandits, or something. You'll not have that anywhere else in Thedas, and the roads grow more dangerous by the day."

Fenris grimaces. "It doesn't seem as though I have much choice."

"Oh, you do," Isabela says kindly. "But this is the only good one."

_True._


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today, another coming at you tomorrow. Thanks to everyone who's commented and left kudos so far, it really means the world to me!

In his week since arriving in Kirkwall, Fenris has adopted a new philosophy that he holds to with firm determination: don't think. 

Thinking, he's come to realize, leads only to that terrifying precipice in his mind from which there can be no return, that fork in the road he cannot face just yet. Thinking forces him to choose, one reality or another, with painful consequences on both sides. So he wakes when the sun is setting, dresses himself in his armour, and walks the streets of Kirkwall as silently and as unobtrusively as a white-haired faintly glowing elf in spiky black armour can. A red-haired "friend" in the bar has promised him coin in exchange for cutthroats and gang members killed, so he hunts, and he does not think.

He does not think of how she'd told him she was "Glad to see you again, Serah Fenris," the first night he'd returned. 

He does not think of how Varric took her aside and quietly thanked her for the "emergency borrowing" of a ship that belonged to her "associates," and promised an exchange of information soon. 

He does not think of how the barmaids and the bartender all seem to know him, bringing him wine without asking his order, and he does not think of how familiar the taste of it is, even though slaves are not permitted to drink. 

_But Danarius sometimes fed him food by hand, a master passing a treat to his dog, so he might have given Fenris wine at some point. It means nothing._

No, he does not think. He stalks the shadows of Lowtown, Darktown, the docks, wherever the "friend"-woman points him, and he kills, and he does not think. Then as the dawn begins to rise, he wanders home, the lanterns still lit in the tavern and a bottle of wine waiting for him in his quarters, paid for by Maker knows whom. He strips his armour, cleans it, binds any wounds he might have taken, and drinks until he sleeps. 

And sometimes, no matter how hard he tries not to think, it happens anyway, and all he can think of is...

_They landed at the docks in the evening, as Isabela said they would, the sun setting low on the horizon. Fenris ignored curious glances from crew members who hadn't seen him during the voyage, ignored the blood mage's attempt to wish him well, ignored everything save the gangplank. He had nothing to carry save the clothes he wore and the armour they'd returned to him this morning, now settled on his shoulders and over his chest and back. Even the redhead, Aveline, didn't seem to know what to say to him as he brushed past her, so she stayed silent._

_Isabela had drawn him a map to the Hanged Man, promising to meet him there once she'd taken care of the ship, so his plan was to immediately set off for the inn before anyone could stop him._

_"Fenris, wait."_

Venhedis.

_Fenris paused on the dock, looking warily over his spiked shoulder to see Hawke walking towards him._

_"Here," Hawke said, passing Fenris a folded-up scrap of parchment. Fenris took it with a frown, casting Hawke a questioning look. "It's instructions on how to get to my manor in Hightown, should you need anything. Isabela told me you'd be staying at the Hanged Man - I can send some things down for you, if you'd like. Coin, and some of your clothes-"_

_"That won't be necessary," Fenris said shortly, hand clenching around the parchment. "Thank you."_

_He was aware of Hawke looking at him, struggling to find a way to fill the silence between them. Fenris kept his gaze lowered, not wanting to see those sad eyes on him again. Not knowing what he knew, now. "Fenris..."_

_"Why didn't you tell me what- what you thought we were to one another, before?" Fenris asked, knowing the truth of Isabela's words but still not willing to leave all doubt behind._

_Hawke exhaled slowly, putting a hand to his hair. "I should have."_

_"Yes."_

_"I didn't... want to frighten you. You were already so scared of me. I thought- I thought it might be a little too much, so soon."_

_It was still too much. It still frightened him. Fenris could not admit these things, however._

_"You would have me go with you," Fenris challenged, meeting Hawke's gaze at last. "You would have me be with you."_

  _"Only if that were what you wanted," Hawke said firmly._ True.

_Fenris cursed and turned on his heel, well-aware that they were in public, though the people around them seemed to be giving them a wide berth. Fenris wondered for a moment if they'd done this before, had arguments in public that people knew better than to get in the middle of. Lover's spats? Would that be what they were?_

_Fenris turned back, and Hawke still stood there, full of some vast reservoir of patience that Fenris both appreciated and wanted to punch him in the face for. "I was a slave before I met you, according to you."_

_"Yes."_

_"And whatever you claim I was before, for the past month I have been a slave."_

_Hawke said nothing, but his eyes were pained, and it was answer enough._

_"Do you still love me?"_

_Fenris was aware his voice was tinged with desperation; madness, almost, and he was going mad. Trying to understand this was driving him mad._

_Hawke met his gaze, and though the answer was already in the set of his brow, the honey of his eyes, his lips added further confirmation as he whispered, "Yes."_

True.

_Fighting the urge to pull out his own hair, Fenris hissed, "Why?"_

_Hawke huffed an incredulous laugh and said, "To answer that question would take many hours, years perhaps, and this would hardly be the place for it. But I do love you, Fenris. It took me a very long time to convince you of that, and I'm willing to take a very long time to convince you again."_

_Fenris shook his head. "No, no- no, you do not understand. You do not understand, or perhaps you are mad. Do you know what a slave_ is? _Master or no, I am not a person, have never been one. You cannot claim to love a thing."_

_"You're not a thing, Fenris," Hawke said firmly, stepping forward. "You are a man, and not too long ago, you knew that. You can learn it again."_

_Fenris still shook his head, and stepped away from Hawke. "You are mad, then."_

_He turned away, and said, "Ask Isabela what a slave's duties to his master are, and see if you still claim to love me then. Do not waste your time waiting for me to "come home," Serah Hawke. I have never had one."_

_He did not look back as he walked away, but despite his better judgment he did tuck the slip of parchment into his armour. Just in case._

He sometimes wonders what would have happened if he'd followed Hawke to Hightown that night. If he'd chosen that day to embrace one truth over another. He's beyond grateful that Hawke hasn't come to visit him at the Hanged Man, has left him to his own devices, but sometimes...

_Sometimes he catches traces of those dreams, in the early hours, only now he has a name to put to that warm, low voice..._

_"It's too early," Garrett says, pulling Fenris closer against his chest. "Go back to sleep, love."_

A dream, a memory, maybe both, and it's jarring when he wakes again in a strange place, alone in a strange bed, and it feels _wrong._  Some mornings (evenings, really) he even thinks it might be worth it to find that scrap of parchment Hawke handed to him, follow the hand-drawn map to the manor he supposedly lives in, to the man he supposedly loves.

Then Fenris remembers what he _knows_ he's lived, and the image of a gentle morning with Hawke slips away, Danarius's voice slipping through his mind instead.

_"Come, Fenris. I have need of you."_

(And part of him wonders, consolidating the two images, if perhaps Hawke has spoken to Isabela by now, as Fenris dared him to. If perhaps Hawke has been told what it truly means to be a slave. If he looks at Fenris now as anyone else would - something used, and broken. If perhaps now he understands the absurdity of loving such a thing.)

So Fenris puts both things aside, both the dreams and the memories, and he rises with only the intent to kill on his mind. 

Tonight the "friend" points him towards Hightown, and the rise of a gang called... something stupid, too many words and descriptors for a group of glorified cutpurses. "Crimson-Knitting" something or other. Fenris doesn't particularly care. He is wary of going to Hightown, and not because of badly-named criminal enterprises. If he had half a working mind, he wouldn't go. He would keep his hunting grounds to the lower streets of the city, and leave the well-paid guards of Hightown to deal with their own law enforcement, or lack thereof. 

But an edge of curiosity drives him, and as long as he avoids... certain areas, he should be fine. As long as he brings Hawke's map with him to know which streets of Hightown to skip, he should not run into him. He should not have to make any choices tonight. 

He sets out from the tavern a little earlier than he has these past few weeks, anticipating the walk up to Hightown following unfamiliar roads. The merchants are just starting to pack up for the day, and the streets are in that uncomfortable state of half-empty, without the privacy that complete vacancy or milling crowds might afford him. Fenris is far too aware of the looks he gets, a glowing elf in spiky black armour with a broadsword lashed to his back, and yet...

And yet he knows there are not nearly enough people staring as there would be in a place he's never been before. Too many people glance at him and look away, an expression of casual familiarity on their faces, rather than curiosity. It's unnerving, and like many other things he's encountered here, it's an ounce of proof that tips the scales in his mind, brings him closer to a conclusion that's beginning to feel inevitable. 

_Not yet._

He's close to the main road leading up the levelled city to Hightown, the sun near to setting, when someone shouts to him. 

" _Oi! Glow-Rabbit!_ "

Fenris stops dead, well aware of the slang for "elves" and very aware that he's the only glowing one in the vicinity, lyrium activated or no. He turns to see a heavily-wrinkled merchant waving him over, cloudy eyes crinkled in a laughing smile. 

Uneasily, Fenris approaches the merchant, glancing briefly at his wares, half-packed away by now. Books of all kinds litter the man's table, worn and shabby, indicating a past life of use in someone's personal library (or in the case of some beaten books, kindling lucky enough to have escaped the flames of the hearth). 

"Good to see you," the merchant says, beckoning Fenris closer. "Got worried you'd found another bookseller up in cozy Hightown, didn't want to see ol' Cobb no more."

Fenris tilts his head, frowning. "Why would I see a bookseller?"

Cobb blinks. "Same reason most do, messere. To buy books."

Fenris is aware that he's staring, but of all the strange things to have happened to him since arriving in Kirkwall, this is the strangest. He begins to wonder briefly, madly, if perhaps there was another lyrium-lined elf who made his home here, who was a free man with friends and a lover. Perhaps Hawke made a mistake and "rescued" the wrong man. Perhaps there is another "Fenris" somewhere in the Imperium, cursing his ill-fate, waiting for a rescue that would never come...

"Are you alright, messere?" Cobb asks, dragging Fenris out of his imaginings and back into the real world. "Have you taken ill?"

Fenris shakes his head, though in truth his stomach is beginning to turn. "My apologies. I believe you have the wrong man; I cannot read." 

_Because no slave can read. None are permitted. Danarius's "favourite" would be no exception to this._

"Not well, no, but you're getting there," Cobb says with a confused shrug. "Last you were by, you were looking for books regarding Shartan. I've been keeping back a copy of the _Book of Shartan_ for you, but I believe you've read it already, eh? Lots of elves from the alienage have been asking, so if you don't mean to buy it, I'll put it up for sale."

As Cobb says this, he pulls a worn leather tome with Shartan's name scrawled across the cover in curling, faded script. Again, Fenris shakes his head. 

"You must have been speaking to another," Fenris says. "As I told you, I cannot read-"

He stops, the realization slamming home, like a wave hurling him onto unforgiving rock. _Shartan's name was scrawled across the cover._

And Fenris had read it. 

Wordlessly, Fenris snatches the book away from the merchant, leafing through its pages. He's slow to it, but it's there - the letters connecting to make words, and more, words that Fenris _knows_. Knows as if he's read them through, likely at a painstaking rate, tracing sentence by sentence with his fingers... 

_But the Book of Shartan is banned in the Imperium. They would never allow such an inflammatory work disparaging the nature of slavery to be mass-produced there._

_And Fenris would never have been allowed to read it._

But he has been reading. This whole time, he's read the sign of the Hanged Man, their specials on ale, Isabela's instructions-

Half-throwing the tome onto the merchant's table, he reaches inside the small leather pouch built into his armour and pulls out that slip of parchment with Hawke's map, and he _reads._  He reads the street names Hawke has indicated, the name "Hawke" above an X marking the manor's location. He's read it before, and he's never questioned _how._

"...messere?"

"Sell the book," Fenris hears himself saying, still staring at the map, blind and deaf to anything else. The scales have tipped too far, now.

There is no turning back.


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I haven't fully finished the next chapter yet, I should be able to get it done for tomorrow though. It's a super long chapter, if that helps. Thank you to everyone again for reading and commenting!! I promise my next fic will be much nicer to Fenris, and I'm sorry in advance for this one. Next chapter is gonna be rough.

"Ah, Serah Fenris- I had hoped you'd-"

"I need to see Hawke."

Fenris does not know the dwarf that greets him at the door, but it's clear the servant knows him. It's becoming far too familiar of a feeling.

The dwarf bows low, nodding. "Of course. He is out currently, but he instructed us to send word immediately should you return home."

"I'm not-" Fenris bites his tongue, aware of his climbing temper, and says instead, "That is not necessary, messere, I can wait."

"Oh, I'm no "messere,"" the dwarf chuckles, ushering Fenris into the manor. He reaches up to slip the bindings securing the greatsword to Fenris's back, and Fenris lets him, too stunned to do much but watch as the dwarf takes his weapon and sets it aside for him. "It truly is no trouble at all. I'm very happy to do my job. Now, Hawke mentioned that you'd- forgotten, some things, during your time away. Would you like me to show you to your room-?"

" _No,_ " Fenris says harshly, then closes his eyes against the dwarf's stung expression. "No, thank you. If there is- a library, perhaps, or a drawing room."

The look the dwarf gives him is so full of gentle sympathy that Fenris feels ready to claw his way out of his own skin with discomfort. "I'll get you set up before the fire, and have Orana bring you a nice cup of tea. Or wine- we've a few bottles of Tevinter red, an Agreggio no less-"

"Wine would be appreciated," Fenris says, a little overwhelmed as the dwarf guides him around a corner and into a small gathering room with a couch and a few desks and tables, the promised fire crackling aware in the hearth (and above the hearth, a truly hideous statue of what might be a nug, Fenris cannot be certain). "Something common, I wouldn't want to take the top shelf wine without its owner home-"

"Well, technically, its owner is home," the dwarf says, indicating the couch for Fenris to sit on. It feels perverse, sitting first in the company of another who stands to serve him. Fenris sits the way he was taught - gingerly, on the edge of his seat, ready to stand at a moment's notice. "You're the one who keeps the cellar stocked - if you ask me, Hawke's tastes aren't quite as refined as yours. Without you he'd likely still be buying kegs of ale no better than the swill they serve at the Hanged Man."

Fenris blinks. "Oh."

The dwarf looks at him for a long moment, then with a soft smile, he reaches over to grip Fenris's arm, firmly. "You'll be alright, lad. It's so nice to have you home."

Nothing Fenris could say to this would sound particularly courteous, so he says nothing, unable to meet the dwarf's gaze, and very grateful when he lets go. 

"In case you've forgotten, I'm Bodahn," the dwarf says. "Orana is the maid, you've always gotten along with her, and if my son Sandal comes wandering over, just tell him that father said not to bother Serah Fenris today. He's quite missed you, you know. I'll be back with Hawke very shortly."

With that, Bodahn turns on his heel and scurries away, leaving Fenris utterly lost in his thoughts.

He's therefore very startled when what seems like only moments later, a large hand reaches from behind him and settles on his face.

With a shout of surprise, Fenris is on his feet, spiked gauntlet wrapped around the offender's wrist and pain searing up his other arm as his markings flare, ready to strike-

Until he sees that he's holding the wrist of a young dwarf, eyes slightly vacant but very sad indeed.

Unsure of what to do, Fenris lets the dwarf pull him forwards a little, bending over the couch to let him touch his free hand to Fenris's face again.

"Enchantment," the dwarf whispers, eyes filling with tears.

" _Sandal!_ "

Fenris releases the dwarf's wrist instantly, straightening as a young elf woman in gaudy makeup enters the room, glass in one hand and a full decanter of wine in the other. The dwarf's hand flies to his mouth, looking like a small child caught with his hand in a sweets jar.

"Sandal, Maker's _mercy,_  Master Fenris has been home less than a minute and already you're upsetting him," the woman scolds, setting the wine down on the small table beside the couch. 

"It's fine," Fenris says, still recovering both from Sandal's attention and being referred to as _Master,_  as Sandal points at him and says insistently, " _Enchantment!_ "

"Yes, _enchantment_ , I'm sure he'll be happy to show you his magic another day, but _please_  leave him be."

Shoulders slumping, Sandal exits the room, Fenris staring after him. 

"Please sit down, Master Fenris," the woman says, sounding suddenly timid as she gestures towards the couch. "Would it please you to have me pour your wine?"

Fenris sits, more because his legs have gone a little weak than from obedience. "That is- fine. I can do it. That was... Bodahn's child?"

The woman - Orana, Fenris can only assume - nods, pink lips thin. "Yes, Master. You're ever so patient with him - I thought you were going to toss him from a window when you first moved in, what with him poking at your markings all the time. Then I saw you pass your hand through a table to show him how they work - he was absolutely delighted, but I'm afraid he's quite taken with you now." She quickly bowed her head. "Meaning no disrespect, Master."

"I'm no Master," Fenris says, deeply unsettled. "Are you- are you Hawke's slave, then?" _Or, Maker's Breath, my own?_

"No, no," Orana says, hands raised and shaking her head. "No, Master Hawke has no slaves, has never wanted them, not that you would allow it. Sorry, it's only been two months and I've forgotten you do not wish to be called Master. And I was just getting better at it, too!"

"It's fine," Fenris says again, at a loss for words. "I- it's just very strange to hear." 

Orana bites her lip, clearly teetering on the edge of saying something. Quietly, she eventually says, "I- I overheard a conversation. I do not mean to overstep, but... Master Hawke was speaking with Master Anders and they were discussing you and Master Hawke said you'd been taken slave again."

Feeling his cheeks warm, Fenris reaches over and pours as much of the wine from the decanter into the glass as he can fit. He'd never felt shame for being a slave, while being a slave. Now, with the hushed way people spoke of it, as if he were made of glass and liable to break at every mention of it, he's starting to hate the way the word sounds coming from the mouths of others. 

Taking his silence as confirmation, Orana steps forward. "And- and he said you have no memory prior to your capture."

_Rescue,_  part of him corrects tiredly, out of habit more than anything else. Wordlessly, he nods, following with a very long sip of wine that drains nearly a third of the glass. 

Orana squares her shoulders, her face filling with some strange confidence that seems half-bravado, half-genuine. 

"I have been a free woman for three years now, Mas- Fenris," she corrects. "You were the one who made certain I knew what that meant, explained to me that what my Mistress had done to me was wrong. If you- if you ever feel the need to speak with someone, someone who will understand, I would be happy to return the favour."

Fenris has not the energy to respond, instead closing his eyes and taking another long sip. He is beginning to feel dwarfed by the actions of this other Fenris, this free man who could teach freedom to others, a concept he cannot fully grasp himself.

"Please call me if you have need of me," Orana says, her footsteps very quiet as she walks away.

The next half hour stretches into what feels like a year's worth of waiting, as Fenris drains and refills his glass, drains and refills again, all the while debating fleeing the estate before Hawke arrives. Is it really so damning, that he can read? Could this not all still be some long game on Hawke's part, with a snare and a knife at the end of it all?

But what reason would Hawke have to do such a thing? Fenris knows the mage could have easily killed him many times by now, could have easily taken what he wanted from him when he was unconscious, bound, and dosed with magebane on the ship.

And everything about Hawke... _venhedis,_  every time he sees the man the emotion that fills his chest frightens him with its intensity, another learned idea from a past that he does not comprehend anymore. Might never comprehend. 

He has drained the decanter, and his third glass, when he hears the front door open, Hawke and Bodahn's voices drifting from the front hall.

He's on his feet in an instant, his skin flaring with pain as his markings begin to glow as if preparing for a battle, heart pounding. _He's still not ready._

He turns to the archway Orana came through- perhaps there might be a back entrance that way, one he could slip through before-

"Fenris?"

Fenris freezes. _That voice._  It's been two weeks, and he feels the long absence keenly.

He turns to face Hawke as the other man approaches, brows drawn together in concern. "Are you alright? You should be letting those markings rest-"

"I am fine," he says flatly, taking a step back as Hawke nears him. He forces himself to be calm, clenching his fists and willing the lyrium to stop glowing. "I- I can read. I should not be able to read."

Hawke blinks, and for a horrible moment, Fenris thinks he might laugh.

Instead, he just nods. "Come with me."

Fenris takes another step back, eyes narrowed. "Where?"

"Our- the study," Hawke says, clearly noticing Fenris's flinch at the word "our." "It's just off the library. It might lend us a little more privacy."

Hawke turns and walks away, giving Fenris the space to follow him. And, a few steps later, he does.

The library Hawke leads him through is quite large given the modest size of the estate, but the study itself is small. There's a chaise lounge by a small fireplace, and a desk with two chairs set close against it. Fenris doesn't quite know where to stand, so he places himself in the corner closest to the door and watches as Hawke closes it behind them. 

"Sorry for the cramped space," Hawke says, his voice level as he steps over to one of the chairs at the desk, moving it towards the fireplace before taking his seat. _Towards the fireplace, and away from the door,_  Fenris notices. Perhaps for the heat, but more likely to keep Fenris from feeling penned in. "The design of this place does not lend itself to private conversations, I've found, and the walls can be thin. I trust the staff completely, but I'd rather... I don't want you to be uncomfortable." At this he bites his lip, brow furrowing a little as he casts his eyes about the room, as though looking for potential sources of discomfort that need dealing with. He seems to notice that Fenris has not moved from his corner, and gestures towards the chaise. "Please, have a seat."

"I am fine," Fenris says, for what feels like the fifteenth time today. He folds his arms, letting the borrowed bravery of his three large glasses of wine carry him as he says, "I suppose you have an explanation for why I can read, when no slave is permitted to do so."

Hawke nods, pressing his lips together briefly before saying, "Three years ago, I gave you a copy of _The Book of Shartan,_  not knowing Tevinter slaves were kept illiterate. You allowed me to teach you. I've kept most of your writing practices-" he quirks a small smile "-the ones you did not cast into the fire while cursing the entire notion of literacy to the Void and back. If you'd like to see them-"

"I would not," Fenris says, drumming his gauntleted fingers against the leather of his armour.

They stare at one another, at some inescapable impasse, for several long moments. Then Fenris begins to pace, rattling nerves demanding movement.

"I do not understand," he says at last, on his fifth pass back and forth before the door.

"What?" Hawke asks softly, that gentle warmth maddeningly real, and present, and driving Fenris slowly insane.

"Any of it," Fenris growls, clawing a gauntlet through his hair. "What you say- what everyone has been saying, I have seen evidence to prove that it is true. But it _cannot_ be true. I look in the mirror and I see a slave. I wake every day expecting a collar around my throat. My mind is that of a _slave._  You are not a slave, so you do not think like one. Yet all my thoughts are bent this way. Would it not be different, if I had been free only two months ago? And were I free, as you say I was, would I not have died rather than become a slave again?"

"Danarius was a powerful, evil son of a bitch," Hawke says vehemently. "I do not know all of what he did to you, but I saw enough. And I am sorry, that I could not stop what he did. I won't ever forgive myself for it."

"I don't _want_  your apologies!" Fenris snaps, anger bubbling up from within. "I remember nothing, so they mean _nothing._  I don't understand, _fasta vass._  This man people describe cannot have been me. Would he not have _fought?_ "

"Maker, Fenris, you _did,_ " Hawke says, sounding suddenly wretched. Fenris spares a look at his face and sees great pain there, too much for him to look for very long. "You did, and I was forced to watch, and _could not save you_. You were far braver, far stronger than I, than I think _anyone_  would have been."

"Then _what happened?_ " Fenris cries, stopping his pacing. "If that man were so _fucking_  fond of freedom, why can I not wrap my head around the meaning of the word?"

Hawke stands, his expression pleading, for what Fenris cannot begin to know. "Fenris-"

Fenris places his face into his gauntleted hands, pressing his skin against the cold metal. He breathes, breathes again, and lets them fall away, determined. "Show me."

Hawke frowns. "Show you what?"

"The pirate said you know a way to- to let me see your memories," Fenris says, stepping towards Hawke, chin lifted. "I know there are things about my "capture" you are not telling me. On the ship, you said it could wait for another time. Well now, it cannot wait, and words are not enough."

Hawke pales, shaking his head. "Fenris, I would gladly show you many things if you wish, but I cannot show you that. Were it my choice I would have those memories forgotten."

Fenris can feel his markings flare in anger, feels the pain of the burns, but he does not care. "Then I should count myself lucky for not remembering, is that what you would tell me? No, Hawke. There has to be some reason, some _thing_ I'm missing, to explain how whatever man you all seem to remember, became what I am now. Why- why he _gave up_."

And that, Fenris realizes, is what he does not understand. Why he is angry. Because whoever the man he was before had been in Hawke's eyes, he is no longer. Somewhere along the line, he'd broken, leaving this Fenris behind - a weak, scared slave, too lost and confused to know any kind of self, to know any kind of peace.

Hawke looks stricken by Fenris's words, nearly as stricken as Fenris feels. A moment later, he nods. "Alright," he whispers. "Alright."

He steps forward and Fenris braces himself, expecting a wave of magic to overcome him, but instead Hawke takes his arm and guides him to the chaise. Fenris allows his touch, allows him to gently pull Fenris down with him as he sits. Fenris looks up, and they are very close, as close as they'd been on the ship when Hawke cut through his bonds. Closer, maybe. Fenris can see those peculiar lightning scars again, can smell him (and the scent of him is so terrifyingly familiar, comforting him and frightening him all at once), can count the freckles over the bridge of his nose and climbing up towards his eyes.

Fenris wants to fall into his arms. Wants to run, and never return. Both things at once, in equal intensities, and Hawke seems to see this, seems afraid to move because of it. 

"I'm sorry," Hawke says, his voice breaking. "I'm so very, very sorry, Fenris."

He lifts his hand to Fenris's face, tips of his fingers touching Fenris's temple, scarcely brushing the skin. 

Then there is a rush of magic, gentle and warm, and Fenris falls into Hawke's memory.


	6. 6.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Hawke's memories of the shit are being split into two chapters, because it was getting really long but there's so much important stuff that happens that I didn't want to cut out. Plus I really wanted to get another chapter out today. This is where a lot of the shitty stuff starts, so uh... prepare yourselves I guess. Again I swear I'll be nicer to Fenris in my next fic.
> 
> Also please keep the comments and love coming, I really do appreciate it and I'm so beyond glad people have been enjoying the fic so far. We're about... three chapters from the end? Should only be three. I'll probably make an 8tracks playlist for this fic as well because, you know. Feelings.
> 
> Next half of this chapter is more brutal and I'm sorry for that. This fic man. I swear it all leads up to something important and beautiful.
> 
> Anyway enjoy the pain guys. Love you all.

Hawke was in a furiously optimistic mood, and Fenris was in a stormy one. It seemed like an average day

"You haven't said a single word to me since we left the city," Hawke said, nudging Fenris's shoulder with his elbow and nearly impaling himself on Fenris's armour. "Are you simply brooding, or have I genuinely offended you?"

Fenris cast him a beleaguered look, brows drawn very close together over his hooked nose. "Does it matter?"

"Absolutely," Hawke said seriously. "I need to know how much wine I'll need to purchase for you to forgive me."

That drew a short laugh out of Fenris, much to Hawke's delight.

It was cool morning on the Wounded Coast, the chill of autumn beginning to make its presence known to the winds that blew up from the ocean. Still, the sun was high, the path ahead clear and quiet, and secret mission aside, Hawke could pretend this was just a pleasant walk with his favourite brooding elf. 

Fenris, however, did not share this perspective. 

"I'm not offended," Fenris said eventually, his voice low. Though the surrounding rocks and bushes seemed empty, both Fenris and Hawke had been surprised along these roads far too many times to be completely at ease. "I'm concerned."

"Ah, yes. I believe you mentioned being concerned yesterday."

"No, yesterday I _was_ offended, because you were planning on going alone _._ "

"And you're not offended now?"

"Less so."

"So listening to you when you say things makes you less offended?"

"And Varric says you never learn."

Hawke turned and snaked his arm around Fenris's slim waist, pulling him close against him. 

"I also recall taking you to bed and worshipping your beautiful body with my lips for quite a while to make up for things," Hawke murmured, pushing Fenris's chin up with the tip of his finger. Fenris looked exasperated, but there was a little smile in the corner of his full mouth, face colouring slightly as he remembered the activities of the night before. "Would you say that also helped unoffend you?"

"It might have contributed to my not murdering you for the sake of your own safety," Fenris said dryly.

"And Varric says you're not romantic," Hawke said sweetly. Fenris scowled.

"And why has that dwarf been discussing-?" 

Hawke silenced Fenris with a kiss, and after a few failed attempts to continue ranting, Fenris relented, leaning up on his toes to press eagerly into Hawke's embrace.

A few long, pleasurable moments later, Fenris settled back on his heels, still letting himself be held in Hawke's arms. He placed the palms of his gauntleted hands against Hawke's chest, gazing up at him with a sombre look. 

"Just promise me you'll be careful," Fenris murmured. "You have many enemies, and you know it. Yet you are far too trusting for your own good. This could very well be a trap." 

"Which is why you're here," Hawke said, pressing a gentle kiss to Fenris's brow. "To keep me from doing anything monumentally stupid."

"I don't think anyone has that power," Fenris said, a touch tragically. 

Hawke laughed and hugged Fenris close, grinning as Fenris tucked his face in against his neck and shoulder. "Oh, my dear Fenris, you do keep me humble."

"Now that's a task I wish never to fully accomplish," Fenris murmured, and Hawke could feel him smile against his skin. 

 

-

 

The cave was large and shallow, though as was the case with many caves along the Wounded Coast, Hawke suspected there might be a man-made tunnel hidden somewhere in the dark corners. Smugglers rarely occupied a natural shelter like this without an escape route, and Hawke had seen enough detritus on the path up the hill to suggest that this was a popular area for the local pirates. 

Fenris appeared at his elbow, silent steps covering his approach. Hawke only just managed to keep himself from startling when Fenris spoke. "No sign of traps or ambush that I could see or feel, but these caves..."

"I know," Hawke said soberly. All jokes aside, Hawke was well-acquainted with unexpected treachery, and more than anything Fenris's presence made him wary, for his lover's safety if not his own. "Bander's never given me reason not to trust him, and Varric can vouch. Do we go in?"

Fenris frowned for a long moment, biting his lip in thought. With a resigned sigh, he nodded. "First sign of trouble, we leave."

Hawke nodded. "First sign."

The sunlight was angled well, illuminating most of the cave, and behind an outcropping of stone in a far corner Hawke could see the soft glow of a campfire. He strode forward confidently, Fenris padding along at his side, eyes flicking from one shadow to the next in clear unease. 

"Bander?" Hawke said once they were close enough, projecting just enough to reach the back of the cave. "Or am I stumbling upon a nest of angry pirates?"

Hawke didn't have to look to know that Fenris was rolling his eyes at him. 

"It's me," a rough voice echoed back from beyond the outcropping. 

Hawke glanced over at Fenris and nodded - yes, it was Bander. Fenris did not relax, his face still held in a tense frown. 

They rounded the stones to see the aging smuggler seated easily on a boulder before a small fire, smiling pleasantly up at them. "Good to see you, Hawke. Glad you came out. Fair journey?"

"You know me, Bander, I'm always up for a stroll," Hawke shrugged, stepping forward.

He was abruptly blocked by Fenris's arm barring his path, pushing him back. He looked over questioningly to see Fenris frowning deeply, lips thin.

"Fen-?"

"Eyes," Fenris murmured, taking a step back and reaching for his greatsword.

Alarmed, Hawke looked at Bander, _really_  looked.

The man didn't seem too concerned that things had begun to slip sideways. In fact, he didn't seem too concerned about anything at all. 

Because, Hawke realized with a sickening jolt of unease, his eyes were utterly vacant. There was no intelligence behind that amicable expression, the friendly smile.

Fenris was already backing away slowly, sharp eyes never leaving Bander's empty face as he dragged Hawke back with him. Needing no further convincing, Hawke pulled his staff free of its bindings, lowering it defensively to guard both himself and Fenris.

"Don't attack it," Fenris said lowly, his voice tight. "It seems benign for now, if we're careful-"

Bander spoke suddenly, his voice cheery. "Watch the rocks."

There was an almighty rumbling, dirt and sand raining down from the ceiling over Hawke and Fenris, and the mouth of the cave collapsed behind them.

Hawke wrapped an arm around Fenris's waist and threw him forwards, launching after him and only just avoiding being crushed by the sudden landslide. He stumbled to his knees, falling over Fenris to shield him from the falling rocks. No doubt the elf would shout at him quite a lot for doing so later, but for now Hawke could take whatever solace he could in protecting him, at least from this.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours, the rumbling stopped, and the cave was still. 

Fenris pushed Hawke off of him, scrambling up with a wild look in his eyes as he took Hawke's face in his hands. "Are you hurt? What were you _thinking?_ "

Hawke shook his head, getting to his feet and pulling Fenris up with him. "You know me. I don't think."

Before Fenris could reply, there was a very faint humming sound from Bander's direction.

Fenris's sword was out and in his hands instantly, lyrium markings glowing bright as he and Hawke approached the campfire, now the only source of light in the cave. Hawke coughed as they approached, eyes watering. In the now significantly smaller space, the smoke it emitted was stifling.

There Bander sat, still looking quite content, singing softly to himself as Fenris and Hawke approached.

"Who sent you?" Fenris hissed, raising his blade. "What do they want with Hawke?"

"I doubt he'll respond," Hawke said, feeling sick. "His spirit is gone. Something is controlling his corpse, keeping the heart beating."

"Blood magic," Fenris spat. Hawke nodded. "There must be an escape tunnel near-"

He broke off with a cough, the smoke clearly affecting him as well.

"Sit with me," Bander said suddenly, grinning up at Hawke. "By the fire, now. We'll wait together."

"Wait for what?" Hawke asked.

"Let's not find out," Fenris growled, advancing on Bander with a glowing gauntlet raised, ready to strike.

"Wait-"

Hawke stepped forward and moved to grab his wrist, knowing it was useless, knowing Fenris would pass right through him, insubstantial as a ghost. 

It was shocking for both of them, then, when Hawke's hand closed on solid leather and metal, stopping Fenris from ripping out Bander's heart.

They stared at one another for a long moment, confusion and alarm reflected in each other's eyes. Then Fenris coughed again, and his keen gaze settled on the fire, still crackling away behind Hawke. 

"The smoke," Fenris said, his voice wheezing on the finish, then his knees seemed to give out beneath him.

" _Fenris!_ "

Hawke caught him before he hit the ground, but he was beginning to feel it too - his vision started to blur, a great heaviness weighing down his eyes. 

He pulled Fenris close against him, folding himself around him protectively as he flung a hand out and called to the Fade, meaning to extinguish the fire.

Nothing happened.

Fenris went limp in his arms, and with a stab of fear, Hawke ripped one of his gloves off with his teeth and pressed two fingers beneath Fenris's chin. The heartbeat was slow, but steady, and relief made Hawke feel weak. 

Or maybe that was the smoke. He could barely see now, could barely keep his eyes open.

He fell with Fenris still wrapped close in his arms, and the last thing he saw before darkness took him was Bander smiling and humming as he produced a sharp blade from his tunic and slit his own throat.

 

-

 

Hawke's eyes snapped open. 

He was somewhere dark, and slightly damp, and cold. He could feel beneath him a hard mattress of straw - a few blinks to clear his eyes later, and the shadow of iron bars could be seen falling across him where he lay. 

He sat up slowly, a hand to his head, feeling a little like he'd been chewed up by a dragon and spat back out. His armour was gone, leaving him in only a thin shirt and his trousers, his feet bare. His staff, of course, was nowhere to be seen.

He reached for the power of the Fade, just to give himself a little light, only to feel a thick wall of impenetrable energy surrounding him, muffling his awareness. It was not unlike being suddenly deaf, or blind.

Hawke breathed deeply, forcing panic down with quick practicality. He was not incapable beyond the use of magic, though it was certainly jarring to be forced to test that notion. He could do nothing without first knowing where he was.

His world tilted with a long creak and he grabbed at the mattress to steady himself, frowning. Well, that was certainly a clue. 

_I'm on a ship._

He cast his eyes around his small cell - barely room for the bed and a bucket in the corner. His heart sank when he realized Fenris was nowhere in sight. 

_They might not have wanted him,_  he thought, slipping off the bed and carefully approaching the bars of the cell - laced with magic, he realized, keeping him from accessing the Fade. _Maybe they left Fenris unharmed, and took me. Maker, let him be safe-_

His breath left him in a hiss.

Across the miserable hold containing his cell, there was a small cage, barely large enough for a child to stand in. There, still unconscious, and forced into a cramped heap against the bars, lay Fenris. Like Hawke, he'd been stripped of his armour, left only in his leggings. 

Rage filled Hawke at the sight of this, and in a fit of unthinking anger he slapped the bars of his cage. 

There was something like a small explosion, and Hawke was thrown bodily from the bars, slamming into the wall above the bed with force enough to drive the breath from his lungs.

He heard Fenris groan softly, across the room. Either the explosion or Hawke's collision with solid wood had apparently woken him up. 

Hawke scrambled to the bars of his cell, squinting to see Fenris in the dark. "Fenris? Love, are you alright?"

Fenris lifted his head, snowy bangs falling away from his face, green eyes large in the dark. He blinked, then inhaled sharply, his bare hand flying up to touch the bars of his cage.

"Fen-"

Fenris's markings flared brightly, but he stayed solid as he kicked out at the bars, only to find that he could not even full extend his legs. With a shout of frustration, he thrashed in his small confines, fists and feet battering uselessly at the iron containing him. Hawke, across the room and not caged like an animal, could do nothing to calm him. He could only repeat Fenris's name softly, as soothingly as he could, until eventually Fenris's panic wore itself out and he curled up on himself, panting, hands buried in his hair. 

"Are you hurt?" Hawke asked, nearly reaching out to touch his own bars again, only just remembering his past experimentation in time.

Fenris closed his eyes and swallowed, letting his head fall back against the cage. "I... do not like small spaces. It's a common punishment for slaves."

Hawke grimaced. "I'm sorry. Likely whoever has taken us will be down here soon - there might be something I could bargain with, anything to get you out of there."

"I'd aim a little higher, like finding out what the fuck is going on and getting us home," Fenris said dryly, only a slight shake in his voice betraying his still-rattled nerves. "But getting out would be a good start."

Hawke nodded, settling into a low crouch as he looked around the hold. There were a few more cells (making Fenris's cage all the more bafflingly unnecessary), and some chains dangling from the ceiling. In the centre of the room was a bizarre contraption, like a rack, that Hawke had never seen before. Whatever it was, it was hardly encouraging. "Hopefully this is just some kind of ransom bullshit."

"Whoever could afford a ship like this would not likely go to the effort of ransoming you," Fenris murmured. "No offense."

"None taken, but I would like to keep on thinking wishfully," Hawke sighed, still staring at the rack.

Fenris followed his gaze and let out a low hiss when he saw what Hawke was examining. " _Fasta vass._ "

"That doesn't sound good," Hawke said. "Is it something really bad?"

"Not in and of itself," Fenris said lowly, eyes narrowed. "It's a rack to hold prisoners when they're being interrogated. Purposefully made to be extremely uncomfortable."

"Most racks are," Hawke said, a little relieved. "So it's not going to rend me limb from limb?"

"You might dislocate something, but no limb-rending," Fenris said. "That's not my concern."

"That's concerning."

"It's Tevinter-made."

Which explained the sudden apprehension in Fenris's voice. Hawke winced. "Ah. So whoever's taken us...?"

"Is likely Tevene," Fenris said, ending on a snarl. "Which would explain why they've caged me like a dog. To them I'm a slave."

"Well, you're not," Hawke said shortly, fists clenching. "They will learn that soon enough."

Fenris bared his teeth. "A lesson I enjoy teaching."

They both looked up as they heard footsteps above their heads, then down a nearby flight of stairs beyond the door to the hold.

"Are your ghosty powers working?" Hawke asked, straightening in his cell to stand. 

"They are not," Fenris said. "And you...?"

"No magic," Hawke said, folding his arms. "I am very, very angry, however. Surely that's got to count for something."

"It has always worked for me," Fenris quipped, shifting into a crouch, preparing to strike. 

The door opened to reveal two guards (Hawke could only assume) dressed in expensive armour, styled in Tevinter fashion. They were not armed, that Hawke could see, though one carried what looked like a long, leather-bound stick in one hand. 

The other walked to a nearby wall and pulled a complex set of shackles from a hook, checking them over with a nod before rejoining his partner. 

"Hello," Hawke said, a hard edge to his voice as the guards approached his cell. "I don't believe we've met. Might we have a round of introductions?"

One guard glanced his way with a disdainful frown, but other than that, the guards did not seem interested in him. They passed his cell, and continued towards Fenris's cage.

Hawke's brows snapped together, following their steps to the edge of his cell, a great sense of dread filling his chest. "What are you doing?"

As before, they did not answer him. The guard with the stick pulled out a small ring of slim keys as they circled Fenris's cage, Fenris's eyes following them warily. 

"I wouldn't give us any trouble if I was you, slave," the guard said, reaching down to unlock a hatch in the side of the cage. "You're already in quite a lot of shit."

"Watch yourself, I heard this one's gone feral," the other guard said, readying the shackles. 

"I think I can handle one scrawny elf-"

There was a click, and the hatch was unlocked. 

Fenris kicked the hatch open into the face of the guard with the keys, sending him stumbling back and toppling over. Then Fenris threw himself from the cage, landing on the downed guard and driving his elbow into the man's face with a sickening _crunch,_  followed by a scream of pain.

He might have done more, but the other guard recovered from his shock and kicked Fenris off his companion with a steel boot to the ribs. Fenris rolled with the momentum away from the guards, drawing himself up into a defensive stance, eyes flicking about the room for weapons. 

" _Fucking knife-ear!_ " the guard with the broken nose groaned pitifully. The other guard rolled his eyes and snatched up the stick, shifting the shackles to one hand as he glared at Fenris, who glared back. 

"You're gonna be in a world of pain when your master gets down here, slave," he spat, though for all his words, he seemed leery of advancing on Fenris. 

"I have no master," Fenris growled, crouching low. "And you will be neither the first nor the last slaver I kill."

The guard sneered, lifting his stick. "Try it, you filthy-"

" _That's enough._ "

The voice was cold, and commanding, and the guard froze instantly upon hearing it.

So did Fenris.

And as Hawke watched, a look he'd never seen on Fenris washed over his face, his dark skin turning ashen as his lips parted, his eyes widening. 

The look, Hawke realized sickly, was terror. 

A tall, aging magister swept into the room, his icy grey eyes small and cunning, a satisfied smirk turning up the corners of his mouth as he observed the scene before him. That smirk quickly turned to a scowl as his eyes fell upon the unfortunate guard moaning on the floor. 

"I was told your regiment was especially skilled with unusual cases," the magister said coldly, folding his arms. "My slave's full abilities aren't even active, and yet he bested you? I was promised better."

The standing guard bowed low, eyes still locked nervously on Fenris. "Apologies, magister."

"What is it to me? If you want to keep your lives, you'll improve your strategies accordingly," the magister said. He looked to Fenris again, who had not moved, who had not yet turned to face him. "My little Fenris. Will you not say hello to your master?"

That frozen look of terror very quickly thawed into a hot rage, and Fenris turned on his heel with a snarl. "You are _not_  my master, Danarius. I never wanted these filthy markings, but if you plan to strip them from me, I will go to my death a free man."

Hawke could feel his own anger returning, both the new and the very old, a grudge he'd held for six years ever since Fenris first told him of his old master. "This is Danarius? I should have guessed by his uncanny resemblance to a sewer rat."

Danarius's lip curled. "Your new owner is very charming, I see." To Hawke, he said, "I've heard you've been making very thorough use of my pet, and his _full_ range of talents. I trust you've reaped the benefits of how well I trained him-"

" _Shut your mouth,_ " Fenris snapped, hands balling into fists. 

Danarius frowned, and flicked a hand out towards Fenris. 

The lyrium lines marking Fenris's body lit up brightly, too brightly for Hawke to look at directly, but he could smell the heat of them, smell burning flesh. Fenris dropped with a horrific scream that tore at Hawke's heart.

" _Stop it!_ " he shouted, helplessly watching from behind his bars as Fenris writhed on the damp wood floor, wretched cries of agony echoing around the hold. "Maker's breath, you're _killing_ him, _stop-!_ "

Danarius closed his outstretched hand into a fist, and the marks faded, leaving Fenris crumpled on the flooring, panting as he fought to regain his breath, clearly still in pain.

Danarius stepped forward and rested a slippered foot on Fenris's neck, and though Fenris winced, he had no energy left with which to fight back.

"A slave does not speak in such a way to his master," Danarius said coolly, pressing down on Fenris's throat. Fenris swallowed and bared his teeth, but did not move. "You have forgotten your place."

Fenris gathered his hands beneath him, pushing himself up from the ground, but Danarius only stepped down harder. Fenris's strength gave out, and he fell back down, pinned under Danarius's foot. 

Danarius watched him for a moment, then, seeming satisfied, nodded to the guard still on his feet. "Take him to one of the cells so he can relieve himself, then bind him to the rack. I'd like a word with the apostate."

The guard, now looking far more afraid of Danarius than he was of Fenris, stepped forward and secured a firm grip on Fenris's arm, hauling him up once Danarius lifted his foot. Fenris struggled as the guard hauled him away to a far dark corner, but it seemed more a token defiance than anything else, still recovering from Danarius's assault.

Hawke stood rigid as Danarius approached his cell, a fierce hatred burning in the pit of his stomach. "If you hurt him, know that I will make it my life's mission to see you die in agony."

Danarius raised an eyebrow, coming to a stop within arm's reach of Hawke, infuriatingly close. "Empty threats and misplaced bravado. I must say, I expected more from the so-called "Champion of Kirkwall.""

Hawke just glared stonily at him in response, and Danarius sighed. "I don't know what my slave has been telling you, but I have no intentions of killing him. To waste a thing as extraordinary as him would be more than criminal, it would be... obscene. As it stands, however, he is in no condition to serve me, something I must correct."

"He is a free man," Hawke said, stepping as close to the bars as he dared, eye-to-eye with the magister. "He serves no one, least of all you."

Danarius laughed. "You truly do not understand him, do you? He was _made_  to serve. I created him to obey, and that need to follow is still his essential self. He simply found himself a new master, for which I really must thank you. All that time spent chasing the lad around islands and cities, but you... well, _you_  made it so very easy for me."

Hawke's stomach clenched, but aloud he said, "I did nothing to help you."

"Oh, but you did," Danarius said, smiling. "You're the entire reason he's here. After all, we both know my little wolf is far too suspicious to agree to a clandestine meeting alone, but you... well, you deal with all sorts, don't you? And Fenris would follow you anywhere."

A great hollow guilt filled Hawke as he stood there, processing Danarius's poison, the essential message striking true: this was his fault. " _You're far too trusting for your own good,_ " Fenris had said, not so long ago, and he'd been right. But Fenris was the one who'd paid the price of trust. 

Hawke was jolted from his thoughts by a distant yelp, followed by a hard slap as the guard wrestled Fenris back across the hold towards the rack. Fenris was now bound by the shackles, with his arms hauled tight behind his back, chained by the wrists and the upper arms. There was blood in his teeth and a rising red mark across his cheek, but he looked grimly satisfied as the guard dragged him along.

"The animal _bit_  me," the guard said, shoving Fenris forward. "Don't suppose I could watch you lay into him, magister? I'd enjoy watching him scream a little more."

Danarius rolled his eyes with a slight sneer (and Hawke realized with a disturbing lurch that he'd seen Fenris mimic this exact expression many times, likely with no conscious knowledge of whom he'd picked it up from). "Once the slave is secure, gather your stupid friend and leave. This is delicate work, not a night at the Orlesian theatre."

"Yes, magister," the guard said, a slight sulk clear in his voice as he began chaining Fenris to the rack.

Panic started to worm its way through Hawke's veins, the thought of Fenris's screams haunting him as he returned his attention to Danarius. 

"Look," he said quietly. "If this is a matter of coin, I will pay you for him. I will give you everything I have to buy him back."

Danarius seemed very amused by this, chuckling softly. "So you _do_  acknowledge that he is property. I'm sorry, _Serah_  Hawke, but the wealthy in Kirkwall would be akin to beggars in the Imperium. And there are many in Tevinter who would sell their firstborns for the chance to examine the elf, never mind own him. There is really nothing you can offer me."

"Take me instead," Hawke said desperately, trying to ignore a grunt of pain from Fenris as his arms were secured behind him on the rack, hauled up at an awkward angle that prevented him from standing fully or resting his weight on the bars he was chained to without risking, as he'd mentioned previously, dislocation. "You want a slave? Have the fucking Champion of Kirkwall. I'm a decent mage, I- well I know how to cook-"

"You are not a slave," Danarius snorted. "Your mind is not the same as theirs. A slave _requires_  a master's hand, a master's guidance, as they are simply lesser beings. It is noble of you to offer yourself in such a way, but ultimately dimwitted. If anything, you are my guest - I regret even having to imprison you, but it was a necessary precaution to ensure a smooth journey back to Tevinter."

The guard straightened then, having finished shackling Fenris's ankles to the rack. "Done, my lord." 

"Good," Danarius said, turning away from Hawke. "The stupid one gets half-rations tonight, and no one is to heal him until I'm assured the rest of you are better trained. Let it be known that idiocy will not be tolerated. Is that clear?"

"Very good, magister," the guard said, casting Fenris one last glare before retrieving his friend, half-carrying him out of the hold and shutting the door behind them. 

"Danarius, wait-" Hawke tried, thinking if he talked long enough he might postpone the inevitable, but Danarius was no longer listening. There was a horrific hunger in his eyes as he looked at Fenris, and Hawke knew that Fenris could see it by the mingled rage and fear on his face. 

Danarius approached Fenris slowly, taking his time, and pausing for a long moment when he reached the rack, staring openly. Fenris shifted in his shackles, his lips pressed stubbornly together, dark brows set low over his eyes.

Danarius took Fenris's chin in his hand, and Fenris jerked away, wincing as this pulled on his twisted arms. Danarius recaptured his chin, this time with his fingers digging greedily into Fenris's jaw, forcing him still. 

"I have missed you," Danarius murmured, a level of intimacy implied in his tone that made Hawke feel sick. "My dear little wolf. You will come to love me again, as you once did."

"I did not," Fenris growled through gritted teeth. "I despised you, you _disgusted_ me."

Danarius stroked a long, pale finger down Fenris's cheek, causing Fenris to shudder and try to jerk back again, still caught in Danarius's grasp. "We both know that isn't true, but I understand; you must keep up the part for your supposed _lover._ "

Danarius glanced back at Hawke with a mocking smile. "Did you never question the elf's experience? Never wondered who he might have served before?"

Hawke looked to Fenris, hoping to reassure him, but Fenris could not meet his gaze, his face burning with miserable humiliation. 

Danarius turned his attention back on Fenris, producing from his robes a collar and a leash. Hawke ground out a low growl at the sight of them, but Fenris hardly glanced at them, his face resolute.

"You can collar me, Danarius," he said, lifting his chin. "You can leash me. But it will not make me _yours."_

"I know," Danarius said softly, running his hand through Fenris's hair, almost tenderly. 

He stepped away to place the leash and collar on a nearby table, then returned to Fenris, who watched him warily.

"You see, it's really my own fault," Danarius said, crossing his arms. "You were so very eager to serve me, I never took the time to condition you properly. Sentiment, laziness, either way inexcusable.  I was afraid to break your spirit - I hardly wanted a gelded wolf.

"But for a stallion to be properly tamed, if you'll forgive a crass metaphor, it must first be broken. _You_ must be broken."

Fenris leaned forward, as close to Danarius as he could manage, teeth bared.

"You can try," Fenris said viciously, his voice a feral hiss. "But I will not break for you."

Danarius sighed, cupping Fenris's face in his hands. "You will. It pains me to do so, but it truly is for your own good. It will only last as long as _you_ choose. Submit to me now, beg for your collar back, and you need not be caged."

Fenris jerked his face out of Danarius's hands and spat on them, eyes blazing. 

Though the moment was hardly appropriate, Hawke couldn't help feeling a small surge of pride. Even now, face-to-face with the source of so many nightmares Hawke had had to wake Fenris from deep in the night, had held him until he stopped trembling (and the trust they'd had to build between them for Fenris to allow such comfort had taken years); even now, Fenris would not bend. Even now, he was free. 

Danarius did not visibly react to Fenris's defiance. He pulled a handkerchief from his robes and wiped the saliva from his hands, his face blank as he did so. 

"You say you didn't want the markings, but there is so much you do not know, my pet," Danarius says, tossing the handkerchief aside and unclasping the ornate staff from his back. "Tell me, did your sister ever reply to your letters? She was quite surprised when she first received them."

Fenris's eyes widened, but he did not reply. Hawke's mind was thrown into some small chaos - he'd had no idea Fenris had tried to contact Varania. Last they'd spoken on the matter, Fenris had dismissed Hadriana's words as lies, and nothing else. 

"You see, there was once a young elf boy amongst my household staff named Leto," Danarius said, running his hand along the wood of his staff. "I'd noticed him, of course, already had plans for his future position, but I'd never dreamed he would put himself forward as a candidate for my life's work. So young, and so slight, I expected the other competitors to tear him to pieces, and I was really quite distraught about the whole thing. I had no desire to see the lad killed." 

Danarius smiled, a sick fondness in his eyes as he gazed at Fenris, who could only stare at him in return.

"Imagine my surprise - my joy, in fact - when that boy I'd favoured emerged from the competition victorious. It was a magnificent sight- such resolution in his eyes, covered with the blood of the fallen who'd been so much larger, so much _stronger_  than he was. Leto was exactly what I needed, you see- not strength of the body, but strength of _will._  I'd offered as a reward for the champion a boon, a single wish I would grant, were it within my power. All Leto asked for was freedom for his young sister and his mother. Leto... was perfect."

Far from Fenris as he was, Hawke did not miss the sheen in Fenris's eyes, his face blank as he took in Danarius's words.

Danarius's face turned mournful, a mockery of regret filling his cragged features. "Sadly, freedom did not suit his family well. The alienages are cruel, poverty-stricken places in Tevinter. In my household Leto's mother and sister were cared for, well-fed and well-kept, with a promise of a warm bed at night and a purpose to look forward to the next day. Cast out from my care, they suffered. The mother died not long after her son won her "freedom" for her. Alone, and frightened, the sister attempted to find work as a seamstress, living on scraps and bare coinage for years. Eventually she became a servant in a great household, where her talent as a mage was discovered.

"Then, from the shadows, letters began to arrive from her supposed "brother," writing under a different name. What was she to make of this? After all, the "freedom" he'd forced her into had hardly been a gift. Some inquiries later, and she discovered that her brother had turned fugitive, having clearly regretted his earlier choices that resulted in her misery. Now, he was set to ruin her again.

"So, as any good, proper citizen of Tevinter would, she went to her master with the letters, who contacted me. A brief conversation with my past possession later, and another promise was made: information on her brother, in exchange for a proper apprenticeship to become a magister."

A single tear slipped from Fenris's large, shocked eyes, and more than anything Hawke wished to go to him, comfort him, clap his hands over Fenris's ears and guard him from the venom of Danarius's words.

Danarius reached up with a soft smile and smoothed away the tear from Fenris's cheek. "You should be proud, Fenris. Proud of how high your sister has risen in the world, despite your poor choices."

Fenris swallowed, his voice hoarse when he replied. "You're lying."

"Oh, my little wolf," Danarius said gently. "You know that I am not."

He bent down, his face close enough to Fenris's that their lips were nearly brushing as Danarius spoke. Fenris seemed too stunned to care. 

"You can fix this," Danarius said soothingly, rubbing his thumb over the sharp planes of Fenris's still face. "You need not suffer. Submit to me, be faithful to me once more, and all can be put right. The Champion will return to his city, you will return home with me, and your sister's name will be unsullied as she rises to greatness in the Imperium. No more running, no more fear. Is that not what you want?"

Fenris blinked, and blinked again, and for a long moment Hawke found himself holding his breath.

Then Fenris's face hardened, and his eyes snapped up to meet Danarius's, his bitter fury ignited once more.

"I will _die_ before I submit to you," he snarled, pulling himself up as straight as he could in his bonds.

Danarius's face lost the cloying softness of sympathy, and he straightened as well, power gathering in his hand.

"Then you leave me no choice," he said coldly. "Remember that you bring this upon yourself."

" _No-!_ " Hawke shouted.

But it was far too late. Fenris's lyrium markings burned hot and bright in his skin, and the air filled with the scent of burning flesh and the sound of Fenris's agonized screams once more.


	7. 6.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late upload, this part ended up much longer than I expected and I didn't want to split it again. 
> 
> I want to preface by saying that I love Fenris. I love him with such a deep and fiery passion and I just want him to be happy and never have anything bad happen to him ever again. 
> 
> That being said, here's 8000 words of bad things happening to Fenris. Y'all knew what you were getting into when you started reading, kids.
> 
> As always I love, love, love that people have been commenting on this fic, my heart does a little jig every time I get a notification. We're about two chapters from the end now and I just hope I can deliver something that makes it all worth it. Love you. Love Fenris too, even if it really doesn't seem like it. Sorry Fenris.

The first session lasted hours.

Hours of Fenris screaming, until his voice broke and all that came out was strangled air. Hours of Hawke pacing in his cell, alternating between shouting every curse he could think of in every language he'd heard, and foolishly throwing himself at the bars of his cell, hoping to break the barrier. This broke nothing, of course, save possibly his collarbone on the third time he was thrown back from the bars, and he was left to watch helplessly as Fenris suffered. 

Finally Danarius seemed to grow tired, having exhausted his supply of mana-replenishing potions in a little leather satchel in his robes. He stepped forward, hauling Fenris's face up by his hair. 

Fenris seemed barely conscious, his breath coming in shallow gasps, slim shoulders trembling as he sagged in his chains. Still he met Danarius's gaze, eyes half-lidded and drooping with exhaustion but still hard with hatred. 

"Call me "Master," and you will not be put back in the cage," Danarius said. "There are plenty of cells here, even some with beds, like the Champion's. Call me "Master" but once, and _mean_  it, and you will have a proper place to lay your head. Don't you want to rest?"

Fenris did not take even a moment to think before responding, a hoarse phrase in Tevene growled too low for Hawke to hear, never mind understand.

Danarius's eyes widened in outrage, and he backhanded Fenris hard across the face. Fenris winced at the blow, but hardly reacted beyond that. 

"Let us hope tomorrow you come to your senses," Danarius said coldly. "I may not yet own your mind, but your flesh belongs to me. It would be wise to remember that."

Danarius turned without a backwards glance, storming over to the door and hauling it open to reveal a guard standing there, straight-backed and stony-faced. "Put the slave back in its cage. Don't bother undoing the shackles. Can I trust a single man to take care of it, or must I call down the entire garrison?"

"It will be done, magister," the guard said roughly, bowing. With a brusque nod, Danarius slung his staff back over his shoulder and stalked out of the room. 

The guard came in and made quick work of the bindings on the rack, catching Fenris when he collapsed to his knees and hauling him roughly to his feet. "This isn't our wedding night, elf, don't expect me to carry you."

Fenris didn't fight as the guard dragged him back to his cage, only stumbled once or twice over the shackles chaining his ankles together, his arms still bound tightly behind his back. The guard dropped him in front of the open hatch and pushed him back in with his foot before slamming the gate closed, checking the lock with two hard tugs. 

"He'll need water, and some food," Hawke said, trying to insert authority in his voice to mask the desperate worry he could hear colouring his words. "Danarius won't be pleased if he dies of thirst."

The guard snorted. "Whether he drinks or eats isn't up to me, it's up to the slave's master. If the magister wants to starve him out, it's his choice."

"Please," Hawke said, as Fenris curled up in his cage, eyes closed. "Just something to drink."

The guard seemed to think for a moment, then leaned over and spat into Fenris's face. Fenris didn't open his eyes, just shifted slightly to wipe the saliva off on his shoulder. "There. He can drink that, if he likes."

The guard left, laughing. 

Hawke went to the corner of his cell closest to Fenris's cage, falling to his knees and aching to hold him. "Fenris? Love, can you hear me?"

Fenris did not respond, only curled tighter into himself and pressed his face into his knees.

Hawke watched him quietly for the next hour, tracking the shallow rise and fall of Fenris's shoulders, terrified they might go still. As he watched, he ran through possible plans in his mind - bribe a guard, perhaps? Pull some splinters out of the flooring with his bare hands and try to pick his lock without touching it? Set a small fire with his mattress and burn the ship down? None of these were viable options, but it was something to think on, something to distract him from the reality of watching the man he loved go through such terrible pain. _Because of me._

The door swung open, and Hawke sprung to his feet, hands curling into fists. He couldn't- he _couldn't_ watch Fenris be put to the rack again, he _couldn't-_

A guard walked in, carrying a cup of water and a small seed loaf. 

"The magister apologizes for the fare, _messere,_ " the guard said to Hawke as he approached, not sounding very apologetic at all. "I'd suggest wetting the bread in the water a bit before eating it, it's gone a little stale."

"What about Fenris?" Hawke asked, folding his arms. "I'm not eating anything until he does."

The guard sighed, opening a small hatch in the cell door (the barrier against the Fade remained intact, Hawke sensed with dull disappointment). "I really don't care if you shove it up your ass. My instructions were to give these to you, alright? The elf eats when the magister says."

" _I won't-_ "

"Garrett."

The voice was small, and exhausted, but it was Fenris. Hawke looked over to see him gazing up at him, ashy-faced and dull-eyed.

"Just..." Fenris continued, breaking off into a dull cough. He licked his lips and continued. "Just take the fucking bread. Don't be an idiot."

"They can't just _do_  this," Hawke cried, built-up frustration from the day breaking through his voice as Fenris just stared at him, the guard waiting with increasing lack of patience by the hatch, tapping his foot. "Maker's ever-loving mercy, this is  _insane._ "

"Please mention that next time the abomination gets wistful about Tevinter," Fenris rasped, pressing his head to the bars of his cage. "Take it."

Hawke stared a moment longer, then with a rough growl, snatched the offered bread and water from the guard, who quickly closed the hatch. Without another word, the guard turned and left, closing the door shut behind him.

Hawke considered the bread and water for several long moments. In truth, he was wretchedly thirsty, and his last meal had been long, long ago. 

But he couldn't. He _couldn't._

"You're being stupid," Fenris said, barely a whisper. 

Hawke looked over to see Fenris watching him, sagging against the side of his cage.

"Put yourself in my place," Hawke said, walking back over to the corner closest to Fenris and sitting, eyes nearly level with Fenris's. "Could you honestly say you'd be able to watch me go hungry, and accept food and drink from these monsters all the same?"

Fenris sighed. "Not to give in to self-pity, but I believe it would be fair to say I would much rather be in your place right now."

Hawke couldn't help but offer a smile at that. "I don't know, love, your patch of hardwood looks far cozier than my own."

"You're welcome to try it out," Fenris said dryly. 

Hawke huffed a small laugh, because it was horrible. And he knew Fenris was trying to make him smile. The guilt eating his insides grew, and he found his smile fading. 

Fenris coughed again, and said, "Think practically. If there's any chance of escape, you'll need strength enough for the both of us. I'm... relying on you. To take care of yourself."

Hawke closed his eyes. He was right, of course.

He ate and drank in silence as quickly as he could, as though doing something shameful before a crowd. Fenris watched, seeming satisfied only when he saw that Hawke had consumed everything the guard had passed to him.

Hawke put the cup aside, feeling far better and far worse than he did only minutes ago. "Fenris-"

"If you're thinking of apologizing, don't," Fenris croaked shortly. 

"This is my fault, and I can't-" Hawke put his hands to his hair, despair clawing at him. "Maker, Fenris. I've failed you."

Fenris's eyes narrowed, and he lifted his head.

"Meeting you was the most important thing ever to happen to me," he said, a fierce energy behind his rasping words. "You have never failed me, Garrett Hawke. Not once. But if you give in to self-pity, it will be the first time."

Hawke met his eyes, and nodded. _He could feel guilty all he wanted later. Fenris needed him now._

"Besides," Fenris said, letting his head fall back against the bars again. "I do not wish to argue blame or forgiveness now. I'm... I'm far too tired for it."

"You should rest," Hawke said. 

"As should you," Fenris said softly. "And if I catch you sleeping on the floor in some misguided attempt at nobility, I'll..."

Fenris frowned, seeming unable to come up with any suitable threat.

"Understood," Hawke said, getting to his feet. As with the food, Fenris watched to make sure he retreated to the mattress provided for him, waiting until Hawke laid himself down upon it before closing his eyes. 

And he wanted to let Fenris rest, he did, but all he could think of was Fenris's desperate screams, still echoing in his head.

"Fenris, could you not... pretend, to submit to Danarius?"

Fenris's head jerked up at that, eyes narrowed as he stared at Hawke. " _What?_ "

"You would know and I would know that you're free, but you could- you could act like he defeated you," Hawke said, talking quickly, seeing a familiar anger building in Fenris's eyes. "He might stop hurting you, he'd- he'd let you walk free, or at least more free, and then-"

"And then what?" Fenris asked, his voice harsh. "I will be no freer on his leash than in this cage. His first act would likely be to take me to his bed, to see if I truly have become his slave again. Is that what you would ask of me?"

"Maker, _no,_ " Hawke said, feeling sick. "But... he might kill you. No man could suffer this indefinitely."

Fenris's fierce gaze softened a little, and he rested his head against the bars. "You have never been a slave, so you do not understand."

"You're right, I don't, but-"

"Listen, then," Fenris said, swallowing with a wince. "It took... it took my murdering of the only people I'd ever called friends to open my eyes. To break free of Danarius's hold. When that part of you exists, the part that can give yourself wholly to serve another person's every whim... the line is so very thin. I would not be pretending, Hawke. If I bend, even slightly, he will find his way back in."

Hawke clenched the straw mattress in his fist, his heart weighing heavily in his chest. "I... understand. Just- please, don't die. Don't let him kill you."

Fenris blinked at him, long and slow, his expression unreadable. Then he said, "Get some sleep, Hawke," and closed his eyes once more.

But Hawke did not sleep for many hours. He watched, instead, as the night grew unbearably cold, and Fenris began to shiver miserably in his cage. Only when the shivering stopped and Fenris's breathing grew slow and even did Hawke allow himself to close his eyes.

 

-

 

He woke up to the sound of a solid object rapping loudly against iron bars.

He scrambled to his feet to see two of Danarius's hired guards standing above Fenris's cage, smacking the leather-wrapped stick against the sides to wake Fenris up. "Come on, wake up, knife-ear. New day for you."

Fenris uncurled a little from his cramped ball, glaring up at the guards. It was hard to see any detail in the low light, but Fenris looked exhausted, clearly worse for wear from the long night. 

The guards opened the cage and dragged Fenris out, hauling him up to his feet, and Hawke could see Fenris's eyes squeezed tight against the pain of stretching cramped muscles.

This time they did not take Fenris to the rack, but to a pair of shackles dangling from the ceiling, undoing the chains around his arms and forcing his wrists into the new bindings. This time Fenris could not suppress a cut-off hiss of pain, his jaw clenching as the guards wrenched the chains higher so he was forced onto his toes.

"Magister's not quite ready for you yet," one of the guards said, stepping back. "But he's threatening to cut our pay in half because you got the jump on one of us yesterday. Made us look like morons."

"It wasn't exactly hard," Fenris said through gritted teeth. 

The guard with the stick scowled. "Well, your master gave us some leeway on discipline. You will learn your place, _slave._ "

Fenris just hung his head, and closed his eyes. 

The beating lasted for far longer than Hawke had the stomach to watch, feeling bile rise in his throat as they took turns striking at Fenris's flesh with the stick, leaving long marks, bruises, and the occasional gash across his bare skin. Fenris did not make a single sound, which only frustrated the guards further, each blow hitting harder than the last.

Finally one of them caught the other's arm mid-swing, shaking his head ruefully. "We're not allowed to damage it permanently."

"Fucking freak," the guard said, tossing the stick to the side. 

They dropped the chain and Fenris fell, only just catching himself on his hands before hitting his face on the floor. Before he could push himself up, however, there was a boot on his back, pressing him down as one of the guards shackled his arms behind him again.

"You should know for all this is a large ship, we can hear you screaming from here to the prow and back," the guard said, grinding his boot down into Fenris's skin. "It's gonna be the highlight of my day, listening to you squeal."

Fenris was dragged back up to his feet and over to the rack, bound there as he was the day before, and left, the guards slamming the door behind them on the way out.

Hawke stepped forward, worried by the way Fenris hung his head, utterly silent save for his ragged breathing. "Fenris..."

Fenris shook his head, white hair falling over his eyes and obscuring his features. "I've had far worse, Hawke."

It didn't help. 

An hour later the door opened, and Danarius entered. 

"Good morning, Champion," Danarius said to Hawke with a nod, his tone sickeningly friendly. "I trust your night was restful?"

"Burn in the dankest asscrack of the Void, Danarius," Hawke replied.

Danarius shrugged. "Not so restful, then."

The magister turned to Fenris, who had not yet lifted his head. Danarius frowned and traced a bleeding cut across Fenris's ribs, rubbing the blood between his fingers thoughtfully. "I see the guards have had their little vengeance. Hardly worth their time - we both know your threshold for pain is far higher than a simple beating could affect." 

He lifted Fenris's face by the chin, pushing the hair from his eyes. Fenris looked back at him blankly, his eyes unfocused and dazed. Hawke, who'd never seen such an empty look on Fenris's face, felt his lips part in shock.

Danarius seemed relatively unaffected, sighing in apparent annoyance. "Now, Fenris, I'm going to have to insist you be present for this. No point in my going to all this effort if you just plan to hide in the back of your head all day. I won't have it."

From nowhere, it seemed, Danarius produced a cup of water, pressing it to Fenris's slack lips. "Drink."

For a moment Fenris didn't react, not even when Danarius tilted the cup and drops of water spilled over his lips and down his chin. Then with a blink, he snapped to life, pulling the water into his mouth with desperate swallows, half-choking and clearly not caring.

Before the cup was even half-drained, Danarius pulled it away from him, Fenris pulling at his restraints to follow it before he caught himself.

Danarius smiled, patting Fenris's hair. "If you're good, perhaps I'll let you drink the rest."

Fenris glowered at him silently, his eyes sharp, that terrible blankness gone from his face. 

"Now," Danarius said, stepping back and taking his staff in hand. "Will you come back to my side, Fenris? Or will you force my hand once more?"

Fenris coughed, voice raw as he replied. "Like I said: I would rather die."

Danarius sighed, and raised his hand.

 

-

 

Fenris had lost consciousness for the third time when Danarius relented, a thin sheen of sweat visible across his furrowed brow. 

" _Guards,_ " he called, and turned to Hawke, his glare poisonous. "You have an equal hand in his suffering, apostate. He has forgotten entirely who he is." 

"He has _learned_  who he is," Hawke said, clenching his hands to hide their shaking. The first time Fenris's scream had cut out and he'd sagged in the chains, Hawke had thought him dead for several long, heart-withering moments, and he hadn't yet recovered. Might never recover. "You cannot take it from him."

Danarius sneered as the guards entered, making quick work of the chains binding Fenris to the rack. "You _Southerners._  So high and noble in your thatch-roofed hovels and your manure-caked beds. You do not even _see_  what you are, what natural breeding has granted you above lesser life forms. Once my little wolf understood where he belonged in the world, whom he owed his very _existence_  to. Your interference has cost him everything." 

"Our beds may be caked in manure, but your mouth is caked in shit," Hawke snapped. 

Danarius's lip curled. "Peasant insults from a peasant man. I look forward to the end of this little voyage, _Champion._  I promise your journey back will be far more... _Tranquil_."

Hawke could not help the sudden paling of his face at the implication, and Danarius clearly noticed the change. With a smirk, he left the room, just as the guards were shoving the still-motionless Fenris back into his cage. 

"Shame he's out of it," one guard muttered, locking the hatch. "Would have liked to give him a few good kicks before putting him away."

"I heard Gadrius's bite's gone sour," the other said, shaking his head. "Filthy things, elves."

 

 

Fenris did not wake when Hawke's water and seed loaf arrived, nor for a long time afterwards. Hawke watched him anxiously, the only comfort being the rasping of Fenris's breathing, air crackling and hissing over his broken voice.

Hawke was nearly falling asleep when Fenris spoke, a quiet, voiceless whisper. "Where would we have gone, after Kirkwall?"

Hawke sat up and moved close to the bars of his cell as he could, his face tight with concern. He forced his expression into one of a confidence he did not feel, a resolve he did not have. "When we go home, we will find out together."

Fenris just looked at him, a sadness in his drooping eyes causing a lump to form in Hawke's throat. "Garrett... please."

Hawke pressed his palms to his eyes, taking a long, shuddering breath. _He couldn't do this. He couldn't._

_He had to._

He swallowed, and let his hands fall into his lap, forcing a smile into his voice.

 

"I was thinking, if living in Kirkwall as some strange minor lord forever being bothered by the aristocracy didn't suit us... I was thinking we could retire to the country," he said, his voice thick. "Not completely retire, of course, we both like trouble far too much for that. But maybe a little house, in a small village where no one would know who we were. I'd have three dogs and you'd be very annoyed about it."

"I would never let you have three dogs," Fenris whispered, smiling a little.

"Two dogs and five cats then," Hawke shrugged. "The others would come and visit, no doubt, telling us about the wonderful adventures they've been having and the horrible people they've been killing. You'd let your hair grow a little longer, maybe gain a little weight-"

"You wish me to be fat?"

"I wish your elbows to be less dagger-like when you roll over during the night and stab me in the chest," Hawke said, and Fenris coughed out what might have been a laugh. "I was... I was thinking we might have a child."

Fenris raised an eyebrow over tired eyes. "If there's a spell to allow a man to bear children, you're the one who'll carry whatever monster we produce."

"Dear Maker, no," Hawke said. "In my vision, we kill a lot of slavers-"

"I like that."

"I thought you would. And perhaps there might be a child needing a home amongst those we rescue. One with black hair, and green eyes, and your dark skin..."

Fenris looked at Hawke for a long moment, and smiled. "You would make a ridiculous father."

"And you would be a wonderful one," Hawke said softly. "We would have a gentle life, far away from all the nonsense of Kirkwall, and Thedas, damn it all. I would sleep every night with you by my side, and wake every morning with you in my arms."

A tear slipped over his cheek, and he quickly pushed it away, hoping Fenris didn't notice. 

"When you return to Kirkwall," Fenris whispered slowly. "Will you- will you tell the others-?"

"I'll tell them nothing you won't tell them yourself," Hawke said firmly, hands gripping at his knees. 

Fenris smiled again, something far too gentle and understanding in his eyes, like Hawke was a child who couldn't yet grasp the situation. "Just... tell them I wish them well."

Hawke's breath caught, and he wanted to deny Fenris, wanted to tell him again that he would make it home. 

But there was a need in Fenris's expression too, and Hawke could not refuse him.

"I will," he said, feeling ruined.

Fenris seemed to relax, and he nodded. "Thank you. And... I should have told you a thousand times before, but- no matter what, wherever I am, whatever happens, my heart is yours."

Another tear slipped from Hawke's eyes, and this time he did not bother trying to catch it. "I've loved you since first we met. That will never change. I will never not love you, Fenris." 

Fenris nodded, still smiling. "I know."

He closed his eyes and settled into his cage, resting his head on his knees. "Tell me more of this place in the country."

Hawke swallowed hard, willing his tears to stop, and spoke. "Well, the two dogs and the five cats can raise our child, and I'm sure she'll turn out just fine for it. We could have a garden for her to play in, and a library where we can teach her to read..."

Hawke murmured to Fenris well into the night, well past the moment Fenris's breath evened out and he settled into a restless sleep.

 

-

 

"It's not fucking moving."

Hawke's eyes flew open, and he was on his feet in an instant, rushing to the bars of his cell.

Two guards again, one of them poking a stick into Fenris's cage. He jabbed Fenris twice in the ribs, once in the throat. Fenris did not stir, his eyes closed and his jaw slack. 

" _Kaffas,_ " one of them muttered. "Alright, well, let's get it on the rack and we can check if it's breathing then. I'm not about to go sticking my fingers in there."

"Magister'll be right pissed. Not our fault if he's killed it, though." The guard undid the hatch and dragged Fenris out, leaning over to secure a firm grip on Fenris's arm. "Think he'll still pay us if-?"

With a snarl, Fenris came to life, surging up to smash the top of his head into the guard's face. The guard fell back, hands flying to his nose as blood spurted between his fingers, but Fenris moved with him, sinking his teeth into the man's neck and ripping open his throat.

The other guard threw Fenris off with a shout, beating him in a panic with his stick, but it was far too late. With a wet gurgle, the guard Fenris attacked stiffened, and died.

The guard's shouting brought two more storming into the room, both stopping dead at the sight of their fallen comrade, Fenris lying on the floor with wounds from the day before split open and bleeding, baring his bloody teeth. 

They wrestled him up and over to the rack, hauling his arms up behind him with rough movements that strained Fenris's twisted arms. Fenris did not seem to care, a near-crazed blood frenzy in his eyes as he kicked out at his captors, snapping his teeth at anyone who came near. 

"Fucking thing's lost its fucking mind," one said, shoving Fenris back against the rack to finish binding his ankles. " _Fasta vass,_  but the coin better be worth it."

"One extra share to go around," another said, nodding to the corpse. He looked at Fenris for a moment, then struck out with a gauntleted fist, bringing it down hard on Fenris's shoulder.

There was a sickening _pop_ , and Fenris shouted in pain, his arm sticking up behind him in an unnatural position, dislocated bone pressing hard against his skin.

"Pull anything like that again, and I don't care what the magister says," the guard said coldly. "I'll do that to both your arms, and your legs, and have a go at you myself before tossing you over the side of the ship. _Venhedis,_  I'll let the whole crew take turns with you, just to boost morale."

Fenris spat blood into the guard's face, punctuating this with a low, feral growl.

"It's straight mad, now. Probably doesn't understand a word you're saying."

The guard wiped the blood from his face, lip curled. "It'll understand soon enough."

Danarius appeared not long after the guards left, casting the corpse on the floor a look of clear disgust before moving on to Fenris. He _tsked_  at the sight of him, still covered in blood and panting from the pain of his dislocated arm. 

"How many times must I warn them you're dangerous, my very aptly named _little wolf?_ " Danarius said, producing a cloth from his robes and wetting it with another cup of water before setting to work wiping the blood from Fenris's face. " _This_ is why I chose you. We're getting close now, you see? Stripping away the man you've pretended to be. Now, we see the beast inside. And all I need do is bring it to heel."

Hawke could only watch in mute horror, still not quite recovered from the guard's death. He was fiercely glad to see Fenris fighting, but it was countered with great worry. Though he was loathe to agree with Danarius, the look in Fenris's eyes was no longer quite sane, looking far more the beast than the man Hawke knew.

_But still, he loved him. Still, he could only look on Fenris and want nothing more than to hold him in his arms again, beast or no._

Danarius put the cloth aside and picked up the cup, bringing it to Fenris's lips. Fenris drank, his crazed eyes never leaving Danarius's face. 

As he had yesterday, Danarius pulled the cup away before Fenris had finished, this time after only a few sips. Fenris snapped at him like a wild dog, producing a low growl from his ruined throat.

Danarius just smiled, pulling his staff into his hands. "I almost have you, my pet. It is heartening to see that we're making progress."

Fenris hissed, and in moments that hiss turned into an agonized scream.

The torture was continuous this time, with no rests for either Fenris or Danarius to catch their breath. Danarius drained potion after potion while he worked, sweat dripping down his face as Fenris writhed in his bonds, lyrium burning bright in his flesh. 

Then suddenly, his scream faltered, and he sagged in his chains, his face slack and empty.

Danarius frowned, wrapping his hand around Fenris's neck, fingers pressing into Fenris's throat. He swore quietly, shoving Fenris back against the rack and wiping his hand on his robes. 

Hawke, who'd been pacing his cell in useless agitation, paused at Danarius's anger, a horrible suspicion rising in his chest

"What's happened?" Hawke asked, not wanting to know, not really wanting to hear the answer- 

"I would have thought it was obvious," Danarius snapped, face twisted in rage. "He's dead."

_Dead._

Hawke's legs gave out, and he fell to his knees, staring at Danarius in utter shock. "You killed him."

Danarius was not listening. He paced back and forth for a moment, then went to the door, hauling it open. The guard standing there snapped to attention.

"Bring me the useless one," Danarius barked. "The idiot with the broken nose."

The guard nodded, eyeing Danarius warily. "Yes, messere."

Hawke barely registered any of this, his eyes fixed on Fenris, broken and lifeless as he hung from the rack. He couldn't breathe. _Gone. Fenris was gone._

He thought suddenly of Fenris's words the night before, the quiet sadness in his eyes as he spoke to Hawke, his madness this morning, and it all fell into place. _Fenris had wanted to provoke someone into ending it. Because he wanted to die free._

Hawke clutched at his chest, a broken whimper escaping his lips. _You're free now, love. Free, and gone somewhere I cannot follow._

So wrapped up in his grief was he, that he hardly noticed with the guard from the first day appeared at the door, face heavily bandaged.

Danarius pulled him in and shut the door, talking as he herded the man towards the rack. "Do you have a family?"

The man paled under his bandages, casting Danarius a fearful look. "Why'd you ask, magister?"

"Just answer the question."

The man nodded, coming to a halt in front of Fenris. "Yes, I've- I've a wife, and a child on the way." He did a double-take when he caught sight of Fenris's lifeless form. " _Fasta vass,_  is he dead?"

"Not for long," Danarius muttered, coming up behind the guard and pulling a knife from his robe. "Reparations will be made to the family, and I'll be paying the rest of the regiment extra for the loss."

The guard turned, wide-eyed. "What-?"

Danarius slashed the guard's throat, bathing his hand in the rushing blood as the guard choked, life draining quickly from his eyes. 

He kicked the corpse of the guard out of the way and placed his bloodied hand over Fenris's heart, murmuring something arcane under his breath.

Though Hawke could not feel the Fade, there was a surge of a great  _something_ against the barrier, and a flash of blinding light, forcing Hawke to look away.

Hawke opened his eyes to hear a long, shuddering gasp, and watched in sick relief and horror as Fenris came to life, eyes wide and chest heaving to pull air into his lungs. 

Fenris's eyes darted around the room, confusion and panic clear on his face, until his gaze settled on Danarius. His face crumpled, and he sagged in the chains, despair in his eyes and voice as he whispered, " _No._ "

"You really thought you would find your escape in death?" Danarius said, arms crossed as Fenris tugged at his shackles, crying out in desperate anguish. "I _own_  you, and that includes your life. You will not be able to run from me again."

Fenris's head dropped down, a single broken sob ripping itself from his throat before Danarius lifted his hand, and the screams began once more.

 

-

 

Fenris was only barely conscious when Danarius finished, earlier than he had the day before, clearly worn out from the resurrection. He stepped over the corpse of the guard and opened the door, the man standing there looking very pale indeed.

"I'll be paying reparations to your commanding officer," Danarius said, jerking his head to the bodies lying bloody behind him. "Fix my slave's arm, if you can. I still need him able to lift a sword when all is said and done. He can stay on the rack tonight."

The guard bowed low, and Danarius left. 

The removal of the dead guards was a swift and quiet affair, Fenris left to hang on the rack as corpses were cleared away and a half-hearted effort was made to clean up the blood. Finally a guard came over to wrestle Fenris's dislocated arm back into place. Though it was clearly painful, Fenris made no noise, just staring blankly at the wall, his mind very far away.

Then they left, and Hawke and Fenris were alone.

Hawke didn't know what to say, at first. He was angry that Fenris had wanted to die. He utterly understood why Fenris had wanted to die. He was achingly glad that Fenris was alive. He was appalled that Danarius could not let Fenris go. 

A short sob cut through the air, and straight through Hawke's thoughts. He looked up.

Fenris's shoulders shook, his breaths ragged and unsteady as tears started to roll over his cheeks. Hawke had never seen Fenris weep like this before, and he found his heart was shattered by it.

"Maker, Fenris..." Hawke said helplessly. 

"It was _over,_ " Fenris said miserably, sounding utterly broken. "It was done, but now..."

He turned his head away, burying his face into his shoulder, hair falling to cover his face.

There was, Hawke knew, no fixing this. No comfort he could provide from his cell, nothing he could do to make up for what Danarius had done. 

It didn't mean he wouldn't try.

"Listen to me," Hawke said quietly, digging his nails into the palms of his hands, dragging what strength he could from the grounding pain. "I don't know how it will happen, or when, but Danarius will pay for this. If there is any justice to be had in this world, or the next, we will see him burn. You have always been so much stronger than me, love, and so much stronger than Danarius will ever know."

Fenris did not lift his head, still trembling, shoulders heaving with quiet sobs. 

Hawke put his head in his hands, trying to think.

Sharing a bed with Fenris often meant waking up in the middle of the night, either to rouse Fenris from a nightmare or to find Fenris slipping out of bed after having one.The first year or so, nothing could convince Fenris to return to bed after dreams had chased him from his sleep. Either he would spend the rest of the night awake, eyes shadowed and exhausted the next morning, or Hawke would find him asleep on a chair or a couch with an empty bottle of wine next to him. Those mornings, Hawke would pick Fenris up without a word, and carry him back to bed, letting him sleep off the wine until noon.

Eventually, step by step, Fenris learned to stay. 

One night Hawke woke Fenris from a nightmare, expecting Fenris to push him away and disappear from the room as he usually did. 

Instead, Fenris gazed up at him with large, haunted eyes, and curled into Hawke's arms, pressing his face into his chest. 

Hawke had very quickly recovered from the shock, before Fenris had time to think too hard about things and get cold feet about trusting Hawke with this. He wrapped his arms tightly around Fenris and stroked his hair until he stopped shaking and fell back to sleep.

He didn't know when he'd started singing to Fenris. Maybe half a year after Fenris had started making the circle of Hawke's embrace his refuge, rather than a bottle of wine in front of a darkened fireplace down in the common area. On bad nights he would hold Fenris close and hum to him, little songs he'd picked up from the tavern or even before, back in Lothering. He didn't know that it helped, but on one or two occasions, he caught Fenris smiling before falling back to sleep. 

Hawke had no idea if it would help now. But Fenris was in pain, and Hawke could not hold him close, stroke his hair and chase the nightmares away. 

" _Nightingale's eyes, what secret lies in their worth?_ " Hawke sang softly, his voice rough and weary. " _Raven's tears they cry, but all the while they softly lie and spy on you..._ "

He did not know how long he sat there, singing every song he knew, humming the tunes to the ones he could not remember the words to. He kept singing even as Fenris stilled, his breaths levelling, and was quiet. 

Hawke finished a song about a constant traveller, raking his brain for something else to sing. In the silence, Fenris spoke. 

"Hawke."

Fenris lifted his head from his shoulder, face tear-stained and tight with pain, but resolved.

"How are you doing?" Hawke asked, a little stupidly.

"I've been better," Fenris said wryly. He shifted in his chains, and nodded. "It's going to be alright. I know I can beat him now."

Hawke frowned. "You're not-"

"I'm not going to die," Fenris said firmly. "Danarius made that very clear. He will not let me. But he has shown his hand, Hawke. There is nothing he can do to me, nothing he can threaten me with that he hasn't already done. I will not break."

There was a self-assurance there, a strength Hawke hadn't heard in days, and he felt his heart lifting at the sound of it.

"Once we dock in Tevinter," Fenris said, breaking off into a short cough. He cleared his throat and continued. "Once we dock in Tevinter, we have a chance. The others- they will have noticed we did not return. They knew where we were going, if not what happened next. With Varric's connections- and even if not, one of us might break free, send a message back. There is... there is hope, is there not?"

Hawke did not mention Danarius's plan to render him Tranquil. He did not mention how unlikely their escape would be. Because he was the one Fenris looked to for optimism, and he needed it so very badly right now.

"Of course there is," Hawke said fiercely. "And when we return home, I swear to you, I will make very loud obnoxious love to you in every room of our estate. And the Hanged Man."

"You will give Varric far too much fodder for his stories," Fenris said, smiling faintly. "But I accept that vow."

They did not speak much after that, but neither did they sleep. Fenris could not, bound to the rack as he was, and Hawke could not, his thoughts chasing themselves around his head well into the dawn. He scarcely noticed that no one had brought him food or drink until his stomach spasmed - the hunger was constant, but the pain was new. 

_Well,_  he thought to himself, putting his discomfort aside.  _I was bound to piss Danarius off eventually._

_-_

Danarius was later than usually, that fourth day. His eyes were cold and stony, ringed with dark circles, the blood magic he'd performed the day before still clearly weighing on him. Fenris faced him down with new determination, looking worn, and pained, and exhausted, but not defeated. Strong.

Danarius did not bother asking Fenris if he'd changed his mind before setting the lyrium markings ablaze. 

No matter his resolve, Fenris still shrieked with pain as his flesh burned. Hawke closed his eyes against the sight, biting his lip hard to keep from screaming with him. Four days, and Hawke could not get used to watching this, could not desensitize himself to Fenris's suffering.

After an hour, maybe two, Danarius snarled with frustration, ceasing the flow of magic into Fenris's markings and shoving him back hard against the rack. It was a struggle, but Fenris lifted his chin to meet his gaze. 

They stared at one another, neither of them bending to give the other an inch, and Hawke could not help but be enraptured by the struggle for power between the two men. The desperate rage they both exhibited was electric, the sheer force of will and dogged stubbornness reflected on either side. Danarius was a pathetic, cruel beast of a man, but Hawke could not say he was weak. And Fenris...

Well, Fenris was a wolf. Proud, and strong, and entirely free.

Danarius gripped Fenris by the chin, tilting his face up to meet his own. Fenris clenched his jaw, but made no sound.

And Danarius smiled. "You have become so very strong, my pet. I am quite proud of what I've created in you. The more you resist me, the more relief you'll feel when you finally give in."

Fenris glared, silent. Danarius licked his lips, and leaned in closer.

"Come to my bed," he whispered, though loud enough for Hawke to hear. "No collar, no leash. Please me, and I will let you rest. You will have food, and drink, however much you want."

Fenris's eyes flicked to Hawke, then back to Danarius again. " _No._ "

It was a mistake. A very brief, very small mistake. 

Danarius followed the path of Fenris's eyes, cutting a hard glance at Hawke. Then, his face changed, transforming into something akin to glee.

" _Venhedis,_  but I have been a fool," Danarius laughed, dropping Fenris's chin and stepping away from him. Fenris frowned at this change, and Hawke felt a chill of unease crawl up his spine as Danarius looked at him again, then Fenris, and barked another harsh laugh. "For all my years, all my knowledge, I am no wiser than a child. How could I ever hope to own you, while your _chosen_  "master" still lives?"

Fenris paled, eyes widening in horror, and Hawke's heart sank. _No, Fenris, no-_

"Danarius-" Fenris started, but Danarius cut him off, crowding him up against the rack, pressing their bodies together.

"How blind I have been," Danarius said, stroking his thumb over Fenris's cheek. "You are so very loyal, as I made you to be. Once, you clung to me with this same strength of will, this same determination. I'd planned to avoid political conflict initially by making the apostate Tranquil and sending him back to his city, where they'd no doubt thank me, but truly, a man as powerful as him is worth some ill feelings in the Free Marches, wouldn't you think? Think of the _possibilities._ "

Fenris's stiffened at the mention of the mark of Tranquility, then his expression rapidly turned to enraged fear as Danarius continued. "You _cannot-_ "

"I can, and I have, and I will," Danarius said coldly, pulling a crimson vial from his robes. Fenris lunged in his chains, clearly hoping to knock it from Danarius's hand, but Danarius just shoved him back with a sharp smile. "What kind of demon might a mage like Hawke attract, do you think? How many pieces can his spirit be torn into until he warps into an abomination more powerful than any I showed you back in Minrathous? You remember those little experiments, do you not? My, that one girl took _days_  to be consumed by Despair, crying for her mother all the while..."

Danarius waved a hand, and Hawke felt the barrier around his cell fall away. Instantly he tried to call up his power, but nothing came, his hands as empty and useless as they'd been for days.

"I've been lacing the water and bread with magebane, I am no fool," Danarius said, sensing his efforts. As he spoke, he popped the cork of the crimson vial, dipping a finger into its contents. "It will be several days before you can access your powers again. Imagine what fun we might have in several days. I took the precaution of taking your blood when you boarded the ship - not very much, but why don't we see what can be done with it?"

"Danarius, _no-!_ " Fenris cried.

Then Hawke's world exploded.

He could hear someone screaming from very far away, unsure if it was himself, or Fenris, or maybe both at once. He was too lost to agony to care, feeling every nerve in his body split open, arteries and vessels bursting under his skin. He writhed, and clawed at the wood beneath him, shredding his nails and not caring, not noticing the bloody lines tracing themselves like branches of crimson lightning into his flesh, his vision turning red as his tears filled with blood. 

Then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

He blinked blood from his eyes, too weak to move, but not too far gone to see, and understand what he was seeing with mounting horror.

Fenris was kissing Danarius, pressing bloodied lips to the magister's mouth, and pulling at his chains to do so.

Danarius smiled, and pushed Fenris hard back against the rack, shoving his tongue deep into Fenris's mouth, and Fenris allowed it with only a short choking sound. 

Finally, Danarius pulled away, his eyes bright with triumph. "So I see we've found a bargaining chip."

"Fenris, _no,_ " Hawke said, his cry coming out as a strangled whisper, and he broke off to cough blood from his throat. Fenris did not look at him.

"I want a blood oath," Fenris said, his voice shaking. "A blood oath that you will not hurt him."

Danarius wrinkled his nose. "I will make no such oath to a slave."

"Then make it to Hawke," Fenris said desperately. "My- my freedom, for his life. _Unharmed._ "

Hawke shook his head, pushing himself up on his elbows, everything far too slow and far too quick all at once, like a nightmare. "I will _not_  consent to such an oath."

"I have your blood," Danarius said thoughtfully, holding the vial up again. "You will not have to."

"Fenris, _please,_ " Hawke said, looking to Fenris. "I can't let you do this- I _won't_ -" 

Fenris ignored him and kept his eyes on Danarius, who poured the contents of the vial into his palm and brought up a knife, slicing deep into his own flesh.

The blood mingled, and Hawke felt the gathering of magic. With the barrier down he could touch the bars of his cell again, and he pulled himself up to watch the terrible bargain being struck. 

"I, Danarius, with my blood, vow not to harm the apostate Garrett Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall," Danarius said, smug glee in his voice as he spoke, "on the condition that the _slave,_  Fenris, commits himself to me once more. Should he attempt to escape, or should the apostate attempt to interfere, this oath will be null and void, and I will act accordingly." 

" _No,_ " Hawke said again, barely a whimper. 

The magic swelled, dark energy gathering in Danarius's palm, then with a sudden burst of green flame the blood disappeared, leaving a smooth scar in Danarius's flesh. 

For a long moment, no one moved.

Then Danarius turned back to Fenris, visibly jubilant. "What do you say, my pet?"

Fenris swallowed, his eyes lowered, every trace of fight and resistance stripped away. 

"Thank you, Master."

Danarius beamed, and Hawke hurled himself against the iron bars of his cell, pounding at them as if it changed anything, as if he could get to Fenris in time, change what had been done. " _No!_ "

Danarius flicked his hand, and all the shackles came undone at once, leaving Fenris to fall to the floor. He panted for a moment, on all fours, then pulled himself into a kneeling position, head bowed.

"Lower," Danarius said.

Fenris closed his eyes, and bent until his nose was nearly touching the ground, hands flat before him in a sickeningly worshipful pose.

"What are you?" Danarius asked. 

Fenris pulled in a long, shuddering breath, and said, "I am your slave."

"Good," Danarius said. "Now, ask for your collar back."

Though he could not see his face, he knew what this was costing Fenris, knew what was being broken, and Hawke could feel himself shattering as well. 

"Could this... unworthy slave have his collar back, Master?" Fenris ground out, defeat and helpless hatred flattening his words.

"Say please."

" _Please._ "

Danarius retrieved the collar and the leash, kneeling down and securing the former around Fenris's neck. He stood up, the end of the leash wrapped up in his palm. "Stand, Fenris."

On legs that shook from pain and exhaustion, Fenris stood, head still bowed, the leather collar stark against his skin. There was so very little left of the proud, defiant elf Hawke knew, broken defeat in its place.

Danarius had won. 

"My poor little wolf," Danarius said, stroking his hand over Fenris's cheek. "How long might you have run, how far, had you not fallen in love?"

Fenris closed his eyes, tears slipping free from dark lashes, and did not reply. 

"Worry not, my pet," Danarius said, cupping Fenris's chin in his palm. "When we return home, I promise I will take this pain away. It will be as if these long, lonely years never happened, and things will be just as they were."

Hawke's hands clenched around the iron bars, fierce anger overriding his grief. " _Damn_  you, Danarius. I will come for him. I will tear all of Minrathous down in my wake if I must."

"And then you will die, and his suffering will have been for nothing," Danarius said with a shrug. "Either way, he is mine. Is that not right, Fenris?"

"Yes, Master," Fenris echoed listlessly.

Hawke turned from Danarius with a snarl and focused his attention on Fenris, desperate to reach him. "Listen to me, love- I'll come for you, Fenris, I _swear_  I will come for you, do not let him get into your head-"

Danarius rolled his eyes and turned on his heel, walking to the door. "Come, Fenris."

Fenris did not immediately move, finally meeting Hawke's eyes in the last moment before the leash pulled taut. 

"Be well, Garrett Hawke," Fenris said softly.

Hawke watched, utterly gutted, as Fenris turned and followed quietly after Danarius, head bowed and shoulders slumped in defeat.

Hawke fell to the floor of his cell and cried, hot tears of fury and grief pouring over his cheeks, until eventually a guard came down and tossed a strongly-scented rag into his prison, and he fell into a dark and dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Hawke sings is "Nightingale's Eyes," one of the bard songs from Inquisition.


	8. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tag for emetophobia on this chapter. Next chapter is the epilogue. Thank you everyone for reading, I hope to finish this story before the weekend is through.

Fenris wrenches himself away from Hawke, toppling off the chaise and scrambling back when Hawke reaches over to help him up. He's breathing too quickly, shallow gasps barely filling his chest, and he's sweating in his armour as though sick with fever.

_It's true. All of it is true._

Fenris pushes himself to his feet, nesting his hands into his hair, sharp points of his gauntlets digging into his scalp. _He was free. Danarius did not rescue him. It was all a lie._

"Fenris, I'm sorry," Hawke says, getting to his feet. "You should sit down-"

Fenris shakes his head, stepping away when Hawke tries to close the gap between them.

"I... I served him," Fenris says, disgust and horror mingling in his gut, his voice raw. "I- cared for him, he- _venhedis, kaffas,_ Maker, I- I can't-"

"It wasn't your fault," Hawke says. "You saw what he did to you-"

"That's not _me_ ," Fenris says, almost hysterical as his mind begins to break, everything he thinks and knows to be true shattering into a thousand fragmented pieces. "I _don't remember,_  Hawke, I'm not _him!_ I'm not anyone, I'm- _fasta vass,_  I can't, I- I'm not him, I'm not-"

"Fenris," Hawke says softly, his voice breaking.

And Fenris looks at him, sees the love in his eyes. The love for the man who kissed him on Sundermount, who gave his freedom in exchange for Hawke's life, who wanted to spend his years with Hawke and never got the chance to. The man who knew and loved him. 

Hawke is not looking at him, the Fenris who stands before him now, terrified and broken. He's looking at the face of the elf he loved so dearly, now gone. A ghost.

"I'm not him," Fenris says again, realizing belatedly that tears have gathered in his eyes, threatening to fall. 

He turns to leave, reaching for the door. 

"Maker, Fenris, _please_ wait-" 

"I need to be alone," Fenris says harshly, pulling it open, refusing to look back over his shoulder at Hawke. It hurts too much, to see Hawke searching for someone else in his eyes. _That love was never for me, but Maker have mercy, I've not forgotten loving him._  "Do not follow me, Hawke."

He doesn't hear Hawke's footsteps behind him as he escapes the library, quickly finding his way to the front door and taking to the streets, bare feet quick on the cobblestones beneath him. He does not know if he's relieved or brokenhearted. _Both._

 

-

 

Hawke gives it an hour before he goes after Fenris. 

He's still dressed in light armour, and he hopes the gangs of Hightown will allow him one night to sort out his personal affairs without actively trying to murder him. He casts a quick prayer to the Maker that none of them have found Fenris, confused and afraid as he is. 

It doesn't help that as he retrieves his staff from the weapons holding near the entrance, he notices that Fenris did not take his broadsword with him when he fled. _Fuck._

The streets are quiet, dark, and empty, the moon hardly a sliver in the sky - a favourite time for highwaymen, when moonlight cannot betray their shadows as they stalk their prey through the streets. Hawke moves as swiftly and as quietly as he can, headed for the main road down to Lowtown, hoping Fenris went no further than the Hanged Man to hide.

It had seemed so simple, when he'd woken a month and a half ago in Anders' clinic, his last memory watching Fenris being dragged away on the end of Danarius's leash. True to his word, Danarius had simply shipped Hawke back to Kirkwall, keeping him in a frozen state and having some guards pay off a few fishermen wandering into town to take his unconscious body to the Hanged Man. Anders had revived him, and Varric had been there to fill him in, explaining that Danarius had left a false trail, making it seem as though a group of Tal Vashoth had taken Hawke and Fenris to ransom. The wild goose chase had cost his friends a week and a half of dead ends, until one of Varric's contacts came through with information about a Tevene ship with slavers aboard docking near the Wounded Coast, close to where Hawke had been led to meet Bander. They'd taken off quickly after Hawke and Fenris disappeared. Varric and Isabela had just been in the process of securing a ship to Tevinter when Hawke was dumped quite literally on their doorstep.

It had seemed simple, because it _was_  simple - go to Tevinter, rescue Fenris. Bring him home. Apologize a million times, every day for the rest of their lives, and never allow anyone to hurt him again. Plan for that hazy future away from the troubles and dangers of Kirkwall, where they could live in peace. 

It was simple. 

Hawke is a step or two down the path that leads to Lowtown when he spots an odd discolouration in the stones a few feet away, not much more than a shadow in the low light. He frowns, approaching cautiously as he stoops down to inspect the dark patch.

_Blood._  A lot of it, and recent.

The blood is smeared in a long track leading to a row of bushes, like something had been dragged, and Hawke follows the path cautiously, careful not to step in it. Then his eyes fall upon what lies at the end of the gory trail, and he finds his nose wrinkling a little.

A cutthroat, Crimson Weaver by the looks of it, and very dead, stuffed unceremoniously into a rose bush. Hawke bends a little closer, sighing when he sees how the man died. _Heart ripped out._

Leading away from the body is a faint track of bloody footprints, made by someone who never wore shoes. Hawke follows them quietly, chancing a little magic to clean up the trail behind him, leaving no trace of the killer's path. 

Another pool of blood a few streets later, and this time two unfortunates, one missing a throat, the other sporting the frozen, shocked expression of a man who'd had his heart burst inside his chest. The footprints are more distinct this time as they lead away from the carnage, and Hawke is forced to move a little slower, cleaning up as he goes along. 

The path of destruction winds through half of Hightown, murdered criminals tossed carelessly against mansion walls and well-swept alleyways. At one point Hawke comes across a pile of four corpses and can't help but let loose a low whistle between his teeth, impressed despite himself. _No doubt the morning guard would be pleased to see their work done for them._

It's with no small trace of irony that Hawke finds himself rounding a corner into the courtyard he'd only recently left, the familiar line of homes leading up to his estate dark and quiet and peaceful, save for the corpse stuffed in a fountain at the far end. He follows the footsteps with a strange twist of the heart as they lead to a familiar crumbling mansion, long since abandoned to rot in disrepair. 

It only takes some brief working with a lock pick gifted to him by Isabela some years ago to get the door open, the familiar dust-and-mortar(-and-rotting-corpses) scent greeting him as he steps into the entrance hall. He almost smiles, a little. It's been a while, and while the place is admittedly a dump, not all the memories he has of it are bad ones. 

He calls light to his staff and follows the footsteps through the empty halls, his own steps echoing dully in the dark. The path of blood is confused and erratic, disappearing into a room and instantly turning back into the hallway, growing fainter and fainter as they track through the estate. Finally, there's only a few splotches of crimson, leading up a familiar staircase and into the bedroom above, disappearing behind a closed door. 

Hawke takes a breath, and gently pushes the door open. 

He doesn't see Fenris at first, glancing first to the chair in front of the empty fireplace, then to the ramshackle bed in the corner. It's only when he looks around for a torch to light that the glow of his staff catches on lines of lyrium, glinting back at him from a dark abandoned corner of the room. 

"Maker's breath, Fenris," Hawke murmurs, quickly moving to kneel at Fenris's side. Beside him are two empty bottles of wine, freshly consumed and clearly accounting for the elf's current unconscious state. 

Hawke pulls Fenris up into his arms, glad to feel his breath softly ghosting over his skin as Fenris's head lolls back against Hawke's shoulder.

"You're not going to like this, but it's for your own good, you reckless asshole," Hawke mutters, calling some healing magic to his hand. Carefully, he places his hand over Fenris's stomach, guiding the energy to sink into him, forcing the toxins out.

Fenris chokes, and heaves, coming to life and falling out of Hawke's arms onto all fours. Hawke grabs a broken vase and positions it in time to catch as Fenris vomits, nothing but wine coming up as he retches. _Which means you've barely been eating. Andraste's tits, Fenris, you haven't changed much._

Fenris coughs, spitting the last of the sick from his mouth, lips dripping red. He reaches for one of the empty bottles, less than a mouthful swirling around the bottom, and for a horrifying moment Hawke thinks he means to keep drinking. Instead, Fenris swills the wine around his mouth and spits it out into the vase, tossing the bottle away to smash in a distant corner. 

He falls back against the wall, panting, a bloodied gauntlet pressed to his head. 

"Where am I?" he slurs eventually, his bleary gaze settling on Hawke.

"You don't remember?" Hawke asks gently, setting his staff aside. 

Fenris shakes his head, tilting for a moment as the motion sets him off-balance. He might have ejected whatever wine was left in his stomach, but he's still quite clearly drunk. "It just... made sense to come here. What was this place?"

Hawke clasps his hands together, watching Fenris carefully. "You lived here when you first came to Kirkwall. And then, you would come here sometimes to cool off when we argued. Varric used to call it your "Temper Palace." You haven't been coming here much lately - not at all within the past half-year, I think."

Fenris raises an eyebrow, and the gesture is so heartbreakingly familiar that Hawke finds it hard to breathe for a moment. "Did we argue less?"

"No," Hawke admits. "But you calm down much faster now, and I've learned to get a wine glass in your hand when you start getting angry. And that's if my attempts to seduce your rage away don't work."

Fenris quirks a very slight smile at that, then asks, "Why... here? There's something about this place..."

Hawke closes his eyes. "It belonged to Danarius."

He hears a rustle of leather and cloth, and opens his eyes to see Fenris curling up on himself, his expression haunted. 

"Did you... talk to Isabela?" Fenris asks, his voice very small as he wraps his arms around his knees. 

Hawke scrubs a hand across his face. "I did, but... I already knew what Danarius did to you in the past. I don't care, Fenris."

" _I_ care," Fenris says, lifting his head and staring at Hawke with incredulous, if slightly unfocused eyes. "He did not tie me down and force me against my will, Hawke, I _gave_  myself to him. I _wanted_  to please him. That was my life, all I knew, for far longer than I've not known it. I cared for him, and part of me- part of me doesn't still wonder if he was right to do what he did. I would have killed you, and never questioned it, never known why you came for me."

"But you didn't-"

" _That's not the point,_ " Fenris says, burying his face in his knees. He breathes, then looks up at Hawke. "I'm not the man you loved anymore, any more than I'm that- that Leto, that Danarius mentioned. Danarius hollowed him out and made him into a puppet, and that puppet is me, and I'm _sorry._  I wish I were him, I would rather he be here than me, but he is gone. I cannot push myself back into his life and pretend to be what I am not."

He looks away and closes his eyes, tears spilling down over his cheeks. 

Hawke sits there, watching him, numbness creeping up his spine and through his limbs. 

When they brought Fenris aboard the ship that first night out of Tevinter, everyone exhausted and disheartened by their incomplete victory as they set sail, Hawke hovered over Anders' shoulder as he examined Fenris closely. 

"Is there any way to restore his memory?" Hawke asked anxiously, well aware that he was crowding Anders and not giving a damn. "If there's a wall in his mind, or- or something-"

"The memory is a tricky thing to tamper with," Anders said quietly, the softness in his voice telling Hawke that he would not be bearing good news. "If Danarius wanted a clean slate... he likely wiped it all. That isn't something easily undone, if it can be undone at all."

"But he's still himself, is he not?" Hawke said. "He's still Fenris?"

Anders looked up, brown eyes somber. "Hawke, I don't want to say this, but... there's a very good chance the Fenris we knew is not coming back. Are you prepared for that?"

The idea had seemed so preposterous, so beyond him, that Hawke had nodded without thinking on the question. "Yes, of course I am."

It was a lie. 

He looks at Fenris, _really_ looks, and starts to understand what he's been trying his damnedest not to, the truth that he's been denying since first Fenris met his eyes in Danarius's hall and did not know him. 

" _Be well, Garrett Hawke._ "

Those had been his Fenris's last words to him, and only one of them had known it at the time. 

The loss hits like a dagger to his heart, the wave of his grief beginning to crest, but he cannot give in just yet.

He cannot give in, because a few feet away from him, an elf who was once Fenris is quietly weeping, scared and alone and in so much need. 

Hawke approaches carefully, but Fenris does not move away, allowing him to come close. 

"What do you need?" Hawke asks softly, careful not to let his own sorrow show.

Fenris looks up at him, eyes wet and pleading, an expression Hawke has never seen on his lover's face before. 

"I want to go home," he whispers.

Hawke bites his lip, and nods. "Alright."

Fenris does not protest as Hawke slings his staff over his shoulder and lifts Fenris up into his arms, carrying him away from the dark corner of a mansion he does not remember having ever lived in. Those memories are for Hawke alone to bear, now, far heavier to carry than the elf falling asleep in his arms. 

 

-

 

Fenris rouses as Hawke gently lays him on a bed with sheets of red and gold, sheets he remembers from half-forgotten dreams. His head swims, the room tilting slightly as he places his face in his hands with a soft groan.

"Here," Hawke says, pouring a cup of water from a nearby pitcher and handing it to Fenris, who accepts it with a grateful nod. "Drink that down, and possibly another, or the headache you'll have tomorrow will make you miserable. Do you need help with your armour?"

"No," Fenris says quickly, downing the water in one go and putting the cup aside. There's far too much between them right now, far too much said, and not yet said, that even looking at Hawke threatens to overwhelm him.

However, a few embarrassing moments spent struggling with a simple buckle leaves him defeated, and he says, "Yes, actually."

Hawke offers him a soft smile, and sets to work freeing Fenris from the many straps and clasps holding his armour in place.

Fenris is drunk, and half-asleep still, but he doesn't think it's entirely his imagination that Hawke is looking at him differently, now. That fierce yearning and confused sorrow is no longer there, desperate expectations fallen away. Instead, he is guarded, unreadable, and it hurts to meet his eyes. 

_Maybe he doesn't know,_  Fenris reasons, lifting his hand to let Hawke slide his bloodied gauntlet off. _And what would it change, if he did?_

No matter what he feels, Fenris is still not the man that Hawke wants, just a cruel echo, and there is simply no getting around that single, brutal fact. 

"I can sleep in the guest bedroom tonight," Hawke is saying, though Fenris is hardly listening. "If that makes you more comfortable. It's just a few doors down, you can come to me at any time."

"Why are you helping me?" Fenris asks dully, the last of his armour falling away.

Hawke puts the chest piece to one side, his expression impossible to read as he seems to mull over Fenris's question. 

Then he takes a seat on the bed next to Fenris, close, but not too close. The fact Hawke seems to know exactly where that boundary lies speaks to Fenris volumes of what they'd been to each other, another life ago.

"You're... not him," Hawke says eventually, the words heavy as they drop from his lips into the silence between them. "It would be unfair for me to- to expect you to be him. That's my problem, and I'll... figure out how to deal with it another time.

"But you are very much like him, though you may not know it. You're stubborn, and fiercely intelligent, and a bit of an asshole." Hawke smiles at Fenris, who can't help but smile back. "I know that I like you, whoever you are now. More than that-" Hawke cuts himself off, looking away. "There are some things that won't ever change, no matter what else does. And it's stupid, and it's unfair, and it's fucked up, and it hurts. And I don't expect... anything from you. But I meant what I said, back on the ship. You have a home, if ever you want one. The door will always be open to you."

Hawke stands to leave, and Fenris should let him go. He should.

Instead, he grabs Hawke's sleeve, balling the red fabric in his fist as Hawke looks down at him, confused. 

"No matter what, wherever I am, whatever happens..." Fenris says, remembering the words from a memory that isn't his, from a life he never shared. He looks up to see Hawke staring at him, eyes wide and lips parted. He swallows. "You are right. Some things won't ever change, it seems, though I do not understand it."

His grip on Hawke's sleeve tightens, and he tugs, gently.

"Please don't leave," he asks quietly, heart pounding hard in his chest. 

Hawke puts his hand over Fenris's, and takes it into his own, lacing their fingers together.

"I won't, unless you ask it of me," Hawke says, sinking back down onto the bed. 

They don't have sex, certain things too raw and close to the surface for both of them to even bring it to mind, but the night is no less intimate without it. Fenris's lips find Hawke's, his hands mapping the broad expanse of Hawke's back under his shirt as he melts in Hawke's arms. Hawke holds him close and kisses his hair, his eyes, his lips, and everything is a new discovery of familiar territory, but it does not scare him as it once did. Instead of the feeling of being a ghost in someone else's life, Fenris feels almost whole, like he's just come home after far too many years away. 

Eventually they still, Fenris held close against Hawke's chest, face buried in that familiar red fabric as Hawke strokes his hair. 

Fenris closes his eyes, knowing what he must say next, and dreading it more with every passing moment. 

"I cannot stay."

Hawke's hand stills, and he takes a long, shuddering breath before responding. "I know."

"You need time to mourn, and I- I spent so much time dedicating my life to the whims of someone else, I cannot-"

"I know," Hawke says again, kissing Fenris's hair, his voice thick. "You do not need to explain yourself to me, I understand."

They lie there a moment longer, then Hawke asks quietly, "Do you... intend to come back?"

Fenris swallows. "I want to. When I know who I am, or- or what I am. When I am more whole, and not trying to match the steps of someone I no longer am."

Hawke nods.

"I don't expect you to wait for me," Fenris says, though he presses closer to Hawke as he says it, actions belying his words. "The path I walk may take me very far from here, or to an end on a sword's point. If there is someone else who can make you happy-"

"And you," Hawke says, his embrace tightening around Fenris's shoulders. "If you find a home elsewhere, I'll not begrudge you for it."

Fenris nods. 

"Where will you go?"

"I was thinking of following the coast to the west," Fenris says, forming the plan as the words come to him. "Slavers strike those areas hard. I overheard them speaking of it in Tevinter. The trade in elves is lucrative, there." Fenris smiles, all teeth and little warmth. "I should like to pay my respects."

"You will become the next Shartan, leader of free elves," Hawke murmurs warmly.

"Hardly," Fenris says. "But I have a sword, and some abilities that would not go amiss amongst groups of defenceless refugees. I... would like to help people. Find some good in what Danarius did to me."

Hawke stroked his palm down Fenris's back, warm and gentle. "I will miss you."

Fenris bites his lip, hoping that Hawke cannot see the uncertainty and doubt on his face. "I will miss you too."

They lie silently together, both lost in their own thoughts of the future, until sleep claims them both.

 

-

 

Fenris wakes before dawn, a new resolve and purpose filling his heart. He realizes with no small amount of wonder that this is the first choice he's truly made for himself, deciding his life's path. The thought stokes a sense of determination in him that he never knew he had.

He slips out of Hawke's arms, his heart aching a little to leave that warm embrace. But it's not for him, truly. Not yet. Both of them are still wrapped up in the echo of who Fenris was, far too much to truly love each other for who they are now.

But that can change. Fenris hopes it will.

Fenris almost makes it out of bed without waking Hawke when the other man stirs suddenly, frowning as he curls his empty arms.

"Fenris..." he murmurs, sounding lost. 

"Shh," Fenris says gently, reaching over to smooth his hand over Hawke's black hair. "It's too early, love. Go back to sleep."

Hawke sighs, his frown easing, and falls back into his dreams once more. Fenris watches for a moment longer, smiling sadly. Then he rises.

It's quick work, packing a bag he finds beside a chest of drawers containing clothing far too small to fit Hawke. He takes some extra clothes, a few jars of elfroot salve, and a heavy bag of coin he finds tucked away in the corner of a drawer filled with loose tunics. He sincerely hopes it's his, and that he isn't robbing Hawke blind by accident.

Soon, far too soon, the work is done, and Fenris is ready to leave.

He casts his eyes about the room, drinking it in as the pre-dawn light brings new details to his sight. He was happy here, he knows. Or at least, another version of him was happy here. Perhaps he can find that happiness again one day; if not here, then at least somewhere with the same distinguishing features.

Those features being four walls, a ceiling, and a man he barely knows, absolutely knows, and loves either way lying before him, sleeping easily.

Fenris steps carefully over to Hawke's side, watching him sleep for several long moments, committing his face to memory. Knowing it could be a very long time before he sees him again.

He leans down and brushes his lips against Hawke's cheek. "Be well, Garrett Hawke."

Then, steeling his heart and turning his mind to the road before him, Fenris steps away and walks out the door.

The sun is rising, the dawn having come at last, and as Fenris walks the waking streets of Kirkwall, fresh purpose in his heart, he finally feels free. 


	9. Epilogue

Varric has to knock three times before the damned door is opened.

"Finally," Varric mutters, as Bodahn pokes his head out. "I was just about to pick the lock."

Bodahn frowns. "Messere Hawke said-"

"Andraste's tits, man, it's too bizarre watching you play the faithful servant, I can't take you seriously," Varric says, pushing past the other dwarf on his way into Hawke's manor. "Broody didn't show up at the Hanged Man this morning, I was gonna talk to Hawke about it. Don't suppose you've seen him?"

"That's what I'm trying to _tell_  you," Bodahn says, struggling to keep pace with Varric as he strolls through the front hall. "Hawke doesn't want visitors, he's- he's quite indisposed."

Varric stops short, Bodahn predictably colliding into him from behind. "What happened?"

Bodahn steps back, wringing his hands nervously. "Well, Serah Fenris returned home last night."

Varric blinks. "And?"

"And, well... it appears he's- left."

Varric sighs, placing his palm against his forehead. _Damn it, Fenris._  "Where's Hawke? And more importantly, what's he drinking?"

 

-

 

It's ten in the morning, cool sun streaming through the library windows, and Hawke is drunk. 

He'd started drinking when he woke up in an empty bed, the scent of Fenris still lingering in the sheets and in his arms. An empty bed, and Fenris's travel pack gone, Fenris gone. 

_But Fenris was already gone._   _And he won't be coming back._

"What in the name of Andraste's flaming panties _are_ you drinking _?_ "

Hawke doesn't look up, clutching his bottle protectively and letting his chin hit the table with a solid _thunk_. "I think I found it in a Tal Vashoth camp."

Varric takes a seat in a chair opposite Hawke, folding his arms. "Well, it is working?"

"I'm not dead and I'm not sober," Hawke says, taking a long sip of the bitter liquor with a shudder. "I'd call it a success."

"I'm sure the Hanged Man serves worse," Varric says, stealing the bottle with nimble hands from Hawke and taking a swig. He coughs, putting the liquor back down. "I take that back. I think we're drinking some kind of Qunari horn polish."

"Multifunctional then," Hawke says. He pushes his head up with the palm of his hand, balancing the weight on his elbow as he meets Varric's gaze. "Fenris left."

"So Bodahn says," Varric says quietly. "Wanna walk me through it?"

Hawke closes his eyes. "It would be... hard to explain. We both agreed it was- for the best."

Varric sighs, and Hawke opens his eyes to the scraping sound of Varric pushing the bottle back over to him. "You're not drunk enough yet. Talk once the walls start spinning."

They drink quietly, save for the occasional cough or choke over the putrid liquor as the bottle is passed back and forth. They're both a little relieved when Orana appears with a large bottle of brandy, and they have an excuse to put the mysterious Qunari spirit aside.

"Anders tried to tell me," Hawke says eventually, his senses dulled enough for the words to feel less like knives in his mouth. "He said Fenris would be different. Could be. And I thought, acting different, I could deal with that, because he'd still be Fenris. But he isn't."

Varric doesn't say anything, and Hawke continues. 

"I think Fenris knew, on the ship, when he handed himself to Danarius. What was going to happen to him. I told him I'd come for him, and he didn't..." Hawke swallows hard. "What must he have been thinking, in those last few days before Danarius- before he took his memories away? I wasn't there, I couldn't- I couldn't be there for him. He would have been alone, and he would have known we wouldn't get there in time to save him. Fenris- this new Fenris, Maker, whoever he is now- he said I needed to mourn. But how can I do that, Varric? Fenris isn't dead, I cannot tell myself that I'll see him again in the Fade or wherever we go when we die. He's gone. And all that exists of him now is what we remember of him, and I just..."

Hawke gestures helplessly, his thoughts spent.

Varric taps his brandy glass thoughtfully. "I never really liked my brother."

Hawke lifts his head. "Hm?"

"Bartrand, you remember - kind of the asshole type, tried to kill us, went crazy because of the thing he tried to kill us for? Nah, didn't like him much. But you've got to love family, no matter the shit they pull." Varric pauses, and says, "He's never really been the same since we found him in Hightown. I visit him sometimes - it's weird, now suddenly I'm his favourite, he's always pretty happy to see me. Hugs me, which is kind of creepy. But... it's not Bartrand, you know. Not really."

Hawke watches as Varric downs his glass of brandy in one go, expression carefully blank. "Did you mourn him?"

"I drank," Varric says dryly, refilling his cup. "Kind of the same thing."

Hawke smiles. "Thanks."

"For what it's worth, and - take from someone who studies stories, and writes them, and has a vested interest in this one ending well enough to sell - I don't think this is the last we're gonna see of Broody," Varric says. "He's got shit to figure out, cause he's like that, but he always comes back. You and he... well, I'm not gonna get sentimental. But I guess the question is what really makes a person: who they were last week, or who they are today?"

Hawke stares into his glass. "I don't know who I'd be if all my memories were taken from me. Wouldn't it be a bit like dying, in a way?"

"In a way," Varric says. "But think of what else he's forgetting, Hawke; he doesn't remember _years_ of being Danarius's lapdog, the pain of the lyrium ritual, the shit he had to do to survive... all those memories of bitterness and hatred and general angst are gone, now."

"Are you saying that losing Fenris was a good thing?" Hawke says dully.

"I'm saying that Fenris has had a lot of bad shit happen to him that made him who he was, but the best thing to come out of it was meeting you," Varric says gently. "He still has bad shit on his plate now, but... less, to carry with him. And he still has you. So I guess what I'm saying is that it might be a bit like dying, but it could also be... renewal."

Hawke looks at Varric for a long moment, then says, "You can't deny that was sentimental."

Varric shrugs. "Ladies love my romance. Now, look, no matter what I say right now, this is still gonna feel like being horse-kicked in the gut. Are you going to be alright?"

When Hawke isn't speaking, he's lost in his thoughts, his memories. The first time he made Fenris laugh, a quiet, shy chuckle at being called handsome. Fenris fighting by his side, at his back, fierce and confident and strong. The look in Fenris's eyes when everything else fell away, and it was just the two of them, lying in each other's arms with nothing but time to spend in knowing each other, understanding one another. 

"Not for a while," Hawke says. "But maybe some day."

He can't help but think of Fenris's final words to him, his last wish. " _Be well, Garrett Hawke._ "

_I'll try, love. For you, I'll try._

-

 

It's a cold night, close to Midwinter. It's late enough that the fire has burned low, and the chill starts to seep into Hawke's bones.

"Your shivering is very distracting while I'm trying to sleep."

Hawke turns over to see Fenris watching him, large green eyes gently amused as he lies there, white hair spilling over his pillow, a little smile on his lips.

Hawke grins. "If I'm shivering, it's only because you're doing a very poor job of keeping me warm."

"Hmm," Fenris says, sliding closer under the covers until he's moving into Hawke's arms, then over him, legs tangling together as Fenris rests his minimal weight on Hawke's chest. "I've been remiss in my duties."

"You were tired," Hawke says, with no small amount of smugness, as his hand smooths over the bare planes of Fenris's back, chancing a quick squeeze of Fenris's ass. Fenris rolls his eyes. "I thought I might let you sleep, seeing as I was the one who tuckered you out."

"You think highly of yourself."

"With just cause," Hawke says, smoothing the hair back from Fenris's face as Fenris folds his hands over Hawke's chest, balancing his sharp chin on his fingers so he can meet Hawke's eyes. "Maker, Fenris, but you are beautiful."

Fenris tilts his head, eyes soft, cheeks pinking slightly. "I suppose you're alright."

Hawke scoffs and shoves Fenris's shoulder, gently, then wraps his arms around Fenris and holds him close, relishing the warmth of him, his heartbeat beating firmly against his own.

"I wish you were here," Hawke whispers, a tear rolling down the side of his face.

"I can be," the desire demon says, tucking its head under Hawke's chin. _Like Fenris used to, because they fit together perfectly that way, long nights spent just like this._ "I can feel how much it's hurting you. _Venhedis,_  Hawke, your stubbornness is pushing me away. All I want to do is help."

"You can't bring him back," Hawke says hollowly, bringing his hand up to work his fingers through the demon's hair. _It feels the exact same._ "Nothing can."

" _I_  can," the demon says, a hint of its true nature undercutting Fenris's low voice. "I'm the _only_  one who can. Your love is gone forever, but I can fix it. I can make him the man that you remember, and you'll be happy. You'll both be so happy together."

Hawke closes his eyes, steadying his breaths, and lets the demon go. "No."

The false weight of Fenris disappears, and Hawke presses his palms to his eyes, tears leaking freely from between his lids.

"Hawke."

Hawke lets his hands fall away, his heart sinking as Fenris's broken, scream-torn voice whispers from the end of his bed.

He sits up to see Fenris kneeling there, eyes hollow and bruised, skin burned and beaten and shredded where the shackles bit into his wrists and arms.

"Do you know what my last days were like?" Despair says, using Fenris's voice. "The moment Danarius had me alone, he raped me, and I did not fight him for your sake. I was his to play with, to torment, until we returned to Minrathous. He wanted to prove it to me, to himself, that I was his again. He wanted to see all the hope leave my eyes before he granted me the mercy of destruction."

"Stop," Hawke says, his voice weak. _He deserves to hear this. Deserves to see it._

"I wept the few times I was alone, out of his sight," Fenris says bitterly, hugging his knees to his chest. "I knew what I was returning to. All those years spent running, my whole life, was going to be taken away, and all I could think of was you. I _needed_  you, Hawke. I was so scared, and in such agony. I prayed for oblivion just so it would be over, but I grieved all the same, because I knew you would come to try to save me. And I knew when you did, I would already be gone."

" _Please,_ " Hawke says, clasping his hands over his ears, unable to look away. Despair keeps whispering. 

"All I could think of as Danarius bound me to that altar, preparing to erase all that I was, was how much I loved you. How dearly I wanted that life we were going to have. How I would never remember wanting it. " _I'm sorry, Hawke,_ " I said, and Danarius just laughed. That's the last thing I heard before I stopped existing, you know. Danarius's laugh. I went to my doom with no hope, no comfort in my heart. Where were you, Hawke? I _needed_ you, I _trusted_  you, I _loved_ you. And now I'm gone forever, now I'm dead, and as it was all ending I gave myself up to Despair because you were not there to hold me as I screamed-"

Hawke wakes up sobbing.

It takes two weeks of drinking himself unconscious to avoid the Fade for Anders to relinquish a senses-dulling potion to Hawke, warning him that it would likely affect his magic during the day. Hawke doesn't care. Anything, he thinks, would be better than the dreams the demons show him. Rage appears as Danarius, laughing and burning and telling Hawke it doesn't matter, _doesn't matter,_  because he might be dead and gone but so is Fenris, his final days filled with agony and humiliation. Fear is the Fenris of now, walking the paths of Thedas alone only to be struck down, a sword in his chest and Hawke's name on his bloodied lips, eyes flaring wide with sudden remembrance of all that they were as he falls. Vengeance is Hawke himself, setting fire to Danarius again, and again, and using blood magic to bring him back so he might burn once more. 

Despair is Fenris, quiet acceptance in his voice as he acts out Fenris's hopeless journey to the black altar, whispering his torment to Hawke and forcing him to watch him be tortured, and violated, then murdered, with no way to stop any of it from happening. 

But Desire is by far the most cruel, because during the day Hawke thinks only of the night, thinks of refusing Anders' potion and falling into his dreams so he might have Fenris, _his_ Fenris, safe and in his arms once more. 

 

-

 

"Letter on the desk for you, messere."

Hawke rubs his temples with a groan, the burgeoning headache shortening his temper. Of course, after coming back from an unsuccessful meeting between Meredith and Orsino to try to mediate negotiations, _of course_  someone wants more of him. "Did it seem urgent?"

Bodahn shifts on his feet, looking troubled. "The man who delivered it was of a disreputable sort. I wouldn't have let him hand it off at all, only he proved himself to be one of Serah Tethras's many contacts. It's passed through several hands to get here, I think."

Hawke sighs. _So, probably urgent, then._  "Alright. Thank you, Bodahn."

He walks over to the desk, only half-paying attention as he looks over the mess of papers and letters. _Someone has to make sure the apostates on the Wounded Coast are informed about the upcoming raids,_  he thinks to himself, picking up a silver letter opener as his eyes fall on an unopened envelope. _And if there is a blood mage in Lowtown, I'll have to ask Anders if-_

He stops, staring at the name written on the envelope, dropping the letter opener with a clatter _._

It's not the name that shocks him. It's addressed to him, as it should be. A single word - _Hawke._

A single word written in large, carefully shaped letters, sharp angles and scratchy lines indicating an unpractised hand. Hawke knows the handwriting as well as he knows his own, if not better.

Forgetting the letter opener entirely, Hawke rips the envelope open, a single piece of weathered parchment falling out into his hands.

_Hawke,_

_Isabela cheets at cards by looking at ~~riflek~~ ~~riflecshu~~ reflecshuns (? stupid word) in ale glasses. I remembred playing cards with you all last nite as I slept. ~~My apolla~~ Sory to bother you, I had no one here to tell._

_F_

Three sentences, is all it is. Three sentences that makes the headache disappear, his chest feel lighter. _Fenris remembers._  Not much, barely anything, but he _remembers._

"Good news?" Bodahn asks, seeing the look on Hawke's face, the slow smile lifting his cheeks for the first time in the two months since Fenris left.

"Yes," Hawke says, reading the letter again, and again, committing the words and writing to memory.

That night when he sleeps, he tucks the letter under his pillow as a ward against the demons of the Fade. They circle his thoughts, and call to him, and they wound him in the forms they choose to take, but he can withstand it, now. He keeps his hand on Fenris's letter, and he sleeps through the night.

 

-

 

Three weeks later, another letter comes. This time Hawke is home, and able to snatch the arm of the woman who brings it before she slips away from his manor.

Once he gets his breath back after having been thrown over the woman's shoulder and crashing hard onto the cobblestones, he raises his hands in surrender and says, "Sorry! Sorry, Serah, I mean you no harm, I swear it."

The woman eyes him warily for a long moment, then straightens, arms folded. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to grab people?"

Hawke winces. "She did, in fact. I'm afraid I was just very desperate for information."

The woman sighs. "Most people I speak to are."

"The letter you delivered here just now," Hawke says, lifting the ragged envelope with Fenris's writing on the front to show her. "Where did it come from? Did you speak to the person who wrote it?"

"It came up from the alienage," the woman shrugs. "Before that, I dunno. The elf that handed it to me was some merchant, looked like he had a rough journey. He seemed pretty keen on getting it delivered here. Can I go now?"

"Yes, of course," Hawke says, getting to his feet. "Could I have the elf's name?"

"I didn't ask," the woman says, turning to leave. "Wasn't expecting to be interrogated. He's selling royal elfroot and arbour's blessing in the alienage, though, if that helps."

_Hawke,_

_I hit your brother in the face wen I herd he became a templar. I do not think I told you. I do not remembre much else but if you were ever confused as to why we did not get along, that probebly did not help much._

_I traked a band of slavers - only 3 - and killed them in the nite. They had a few elvs with them, and one is heded to Kirkwall. Hes ~~promess~~ sworn to me he will have this letter delivered to you._

_I hope I am not upseting you by writing. I feel as thou if I do not comit the few memores I have to paper, I will lose them again._

_Hoping you are well._

_F_

"Yes, I was the one who sent the messenger," the elf says, grimacing. "I fear I know far too much about this city to go wandering up to Hightown however, given my status."

"That was probably wise," Hawke agrees ruefully.

The elf's name is Dharev, an Antivan elf not quite middle-aged, but not too many years younger. His arm is still bandaged from what looks like a knife wound, and his cheek is bruised, but he seems cheerful enough as he arranges his herbs in their jars and pots on his stand. 

"I thought I was done for, honestly," Dharev says. "They weren't even sure if they wanted to keep me. An herbalist is useful, but those in the trade prefer young elves, you know- multi-purpose." He says this with a bitterness that Hawke knows all too well. "I could do nothing to help the woman captured with me, nor her two children. I could see one of the slavers eyeing the youngest - barely fourteen summers she had, if that. It was sickening. Then one night, we woke up to the sound of the watchman's screams. I thought it was a spirit, at first. A vengeful ghost come to seek the blood of those who'd wronged him."

"You're not entirely incorrect," Hawke says, heart aching a little. He can see it in his mind's eye, Fenris blazing bright as he cuts through the slavers with his mouth grimly set, eyes burning with rage. 

"Whoever he was, I owe him my life, though at the time I was too terrified to say much to him," Dharev says with a short laugh. "He was exceedingly kind with the children though, in a quiet sort of way, and that put me and the mother at ease. He said he planned to continue along to the west, and asked me only one favour in payment for the massive debt I owe him, and will likely owe him till the end of my days; getting that letter to you. Tell me, do you know him well?"

Hawke surprises himself with a smile, despite the now-familiar pang of heartache at the thought of what he's lost. "Not really. But I'd like to."

 

-

 

_Hawke,_

_Tell Anders that wile I do not harber as much hatred for mages as I once did (it is confusing to compar my haf-remembred anger to how I feel now), I have recaled a few reesons why I do not like him spesificly, and will be happy to explain those reesons if I return. I no I sed that if you find happiness with another I woud not begruge you of it, and I stand by that, but if he trys to sedus you wile I am gone I will have no choise but to stab him._

_F_

_-_

_Hawke,_

_I remembre leeving you the first time. I supos I havent changed much. I am sory._

_F_

_-_

_Hawke,_

_Tell Aveleen that Donik does want children, hes waiting for her to bring it up._

_F_

_-_

_Hawke,_

_I neerly had my arm torn off by a rabed mabari today. I do not see the apeel of such ~~crech~~ ~~cree~~ anemals. Pleas do not adopt three wile I am gone._

_F_

_-_

_Hawke,_

_I do not no if you are receeving these letters. For all I no none of them have reeched Kirkwall. And if they have, I have no way of noing if you wish me to stop writing. But I like to think that it helps. I no I am not who I was. I still do not no who I am. With every memory, thou, I feel as thou 2 haves of me are joining into someone else. It is a strange feeling. Thou I hate that I am not who I was, I no that I was very angry, very sad, and often lonely._

_I am not so much any more. Perhaps not all forgeting is bad._

_F_

_-_

_Hawke,_

_Varik ows you 2 gold. You keep forgeting. You asked me to remind you at som point. This mite be years late, but here I am, reminding you: Varik ows you 2 gold._

_F_

_-_

_Hawke,_

_The winter is finaly letting up were I am, thou it is still cold. I hope the frost is melting in Kirkwall._

_Ive been traking a large group of slavers along the cost. They took nearly 20 elvs captive, and slawtred there warriors. It took me a few weeks to plan, but 2 days ago I was abel to slip into the camp and pass the elvs some wepons - anything I coud find in the forest and nearby towns. We managed to kill the slavers and free evryone. There gratitude has been overwelming to me. A child embraced me as I sat to clean my sord - she then touched my hair and called me "grandfather." I dont no how I feel about that. I do not no for certen how old I am, but I do not think I am that old._

_They have no one to protect them, Hawke. Its a long way from were we are to a safer plase for them. I will be traveling with them to make certen they are not harmed._

_We will be avoiding the main roads, making our way throu the wilds. For this reeson, I may not be abel to write for quite some time._

_If I do not write again, for watever reeson, no that I only wish you the best. I have not the words to tell you how I feel that woud suffis, so I can only hope you understand wat I cannot say._

_I do wish to come home, if there is still one to be had with you._

_Be well, Garrett Hawke._

_Yours,_

_Fenris_

_-_

A warm wind edged with the promise of a golden summer breezes through the streets of Hightown, the scent of blooming flowers filling Hawke's every breath as he makes his way home to his estate.

He's hardly in a mood to appreciate the wind, however, nor the sunset washing all the buildings in brilliant hues of pink and yellow. A spring evening, rich with gentle promise, and Hawke doesn't really care. 

The city, he knows, is setting to fall into chaos, what with Meredith's new levels of insanity and Orsino's stubbornly defensive approach to every mention of mage restrictions. He's been avoiding Orsino's increasingly frantic demands to meet him at the Gallows for a confrontation, but he knows he cannot delay the inevitable indefinitely. 

He hasn't heard from Fenris since the week after Wintersend. Summerday has come and gone without a word. Though he knows there are far more pressing matters, the silence has slowly been eating away at his heart.

It's the not knowing, that hurts the most. Not knowing if Fenris is alive, or dead, or changed his mind about returning and has decided to start a new life elsewhere. Those words had been so promising to read, all those months ago. " _I do wish to come home._ "

The Fenris that Hawke knew and loved is gone, and though it aches like an old wound forever tender to the touch, he has mourned, and he has begun to heal. He thinks often of Varric's mention of " _renewal,_ " thinks of the kind of future he might build with this new Fenris by his side; a Fenris who rose so quickly from slavery and torment to a rogue warrior, defending the helpless and freeing whomever he can. The kind of man who would set aside all else to take a long journey with strangers to find them a safer home. This is not so different from the man Hawke fell in love with. 

But he sees it in the letters, he thinks - a certain softness around the edges, that the Fenris he remembers was only just starting to gain. He doesn't know what this means, exactly, but he knows he wants nothing more than the chance to find out. 

_And I may never get that chance._

He's barely touched the doorknob of his manor door when Sandal bursts through, startling Hawke clean out of his thoughts. 

" _Enchantment!_ " the boy shouts, flapping his hands excitedly, bounding up and down. "Enchantment, enchantment, _enchantment!_ "

"Whoa, alright," Hawke says, as the boy laughs with glee and runs a quick circle around him. "You didn't get into the liquor, did you? Orana will have your head, you know."

Sandal laughs again, and takes Hawke's wrist in his hand, hauling Hawke nearly off his feet as he races into the manor, Hawke very much in tow. " _Enchantment!_ "

"Maker's breath, Sandal, you're going to rip my arm out," Hawke protests, stumbling after the boy. "It's a very important arm, you know, attached to a man who's supposed to be deciding Kirkwall's fate, _apparently,_  and I don't know if I can do that one-handed-"

They turn into the drawing room, and Hawke's breath catches in his throat, coming to a short stop in the entranceway. 

The elf standing by the fireplace, looking both amused and a little shy, is familiar to Hawke. The snowy hair falling into his brilliant green eyes is a little longer than it was, half-pulled back into a braid to keep the forelocks from covering his face. The armour is different - not the black, spiked armour of a trained warrior-slave, but roughly leather-crafted with brown and green dyes, a warm fur ruff around the hood, with metal wrist and shinguards sparkling with lyrium lines running through them. 

It's his face, that Hawke can't stop staring at.

There's a new scar running the length of his cheekbone, and he's a little paler than he was from the long winter, but that's not the difference that captures Hawke's attention. There's a confidence there, a lessening in the constant furrow of his brows - still sombre, but far less severe. His eyes are clear and steady, his gaze resting on Hawke without faltering, without constantly flicking away to check the exits or dropping to the floor, too uncertain to look Hawke in the eyes.

There's a sense of peace, in his expression, that Hawke has never seen before, and he finds he cannot look away.

"I heard there's been trouble brewing in the city," the elf says, and there is some small hesitance in his voice not readily apparent in his countenance. "I... didn't want to be left out of the fight."

Hawke swallows, stepping forward, and the elf does not step away. "...Fenris? Or- or is there another name I should call you by?"

The elf tilts his head, and smiles. "Fenris is fine. It's the only name I know for certain belongs to me, no matter where it might have come from. And now I hear that whispers of my name are being echoed in the Imperium by nervous slavers, so yes, I should like to remain attached to it."

Hawke does not stop until he's standing nearly toe-to-toe with this elf, this man he both knows, and does not know.

There is some of the same conflicted emotions echoed in Fenris's eyes, some of the same concerns Hawke knows he has, and shares, but he finds it does not matter.

He takes Fenris's face in his hands, and Fenris lets him, watching him carefully with that new unapologetic serenity in the depths of his forest-green eyes.

He's Fenris, and he is not Fenris. He is a man Hawke knows intrinsically, and not at all. 

He is renewed. And through this renewal, hope blooms fresh in Hawke's heart.

"Is the door still open?" Fenris asks quietly, a soft yearning in his words.

Hawke leans down and presses his lips to Fenris's mouth, his smile breaking into a delighted laugh as Fenris surges up to meet him, wrapping his arms tightly around Hawke's shoulders.

"Welcome home," Hawke whispers, and when he pulls back just enough to see Fenris's face, he is smiling with weightless joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit guys, we made it.
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who's read the fic and left such beautiful comments, that's honestly what keeps me writing. This fic especially was REALLY HARD to get through at parts, but I wanted to deliver this ending to you very very badly. I hope it measures up. 
> 
> The armour Fenris wears at the end is based off this fanart by HrHase (http://hrhase.tumblr.com/post/131971607483), which I adore.
> 
> And because I'm a sentimental asshat, here's a playlist of songs that I wrote the fic to/cried over on the Skytrain while planning this story. Some of it is ridiculously cliché and I apologize for that. (http://8tracks.com/foxnonny/you-ll-remember-me-when-the-west-wind-moves)
> 
> EDIT: HOLY SHIT THERE'S ART if you want to reblog the art at the end (and you should) you can find the original post at https://xiz0r.tumblr.com/post/173564357929/welcome-home-fenris-a-gift-for-the-very-talented or hell just go to xiz0r's page and give them all the love, it's so?? beautiful??
> 
> I love you guys so so much, I love these two assholes, and I really hope you enjoyed this fic. Thank you, again.


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